


Being silly

by LightofEvolution



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-11-04 18:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/pseuds/LightofEvolution
Summary: Even Hermione Granger is allowed to be silly sometimes. And when she happens to run into Draco Malfoy in this state, things might get interesting. Dramione, EWE, 8th year.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story wasn't planned at all. This first chapter came to be in a state very much like Hermione's in here. And I still liked it on Sunday after I woke up, so I decided to go on with it. Let's see where the story leads me...
> 
> Beta love to MrBenzedrine89, who didn't judge me when I presented her this and says I'm cool.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know anything here and make no money from this.
> 
> Rated M due to language and sexual situations.

Hermione stumbled through the barely lit corridor, her vision blurred by angry tears. It was one of those moments that simply didn't make sense and would make her curse her own silliness in the morning.

Screw morning.

Even Hermione Granger, Head Girl, know-it-all par excellence, was allowed to have some emotional moments.

After all those years, after all those times where she'd been a part of a team, a part of where she belonged...she still didn't at times.

Oh, well, there was a rational part of her brain that, even while filled with firewhiskey to the brim, knew that she was overcompensating with her rational side to cope with a stress related trauma, but… she didn't want to listen to that part for once. Of course, she'd feel better in the morning if she did so. Undoubtedly, she should have gone to bed when she felt left out. She should have voiced her struggles when they asked her, "Everything alright, Hermione?" On the other side, they should have known her well enough to know that all.

Instead, she had decided to tune all rationality out, to not only give a damn what others thought, but also simply do what her emotions dictated her to do so right in this moment…

and that was why she found herself wandering around the castle shortly before midnight. Yeah, maybe she really did stagger more than she wandered.

Hermione giggled at her own thoughts.

"A girl like you shouldn't be out alone at this time."

Hermione, despite her alcohol induced haze, lunged for her wand reflexively. But then she acknowledged the (fucking attractive) man who had spoken to her. This voice! She should really tell him that he should shut up if he wouldn't want a witch drowning in her own knickers sooner or later.

"A woman like me should be bedded by a handsome wizard because she made sure that there isn't a dark wizard out there anymore to threaten her and all muggleborns' life!" Being a handsy drunk, Hermione had no quarrels whatsoever to poke the glowing-in-the-dark blond into his firm, firm, firm…abs.

"Talking about oneself in the third person isn't an exact sign of sanity, Granger, the man behind the abs judged her. Hermione blinked up to him, seriously debating how much truth was behind his words.

"I lost most of my sanity when your dear auntie carved her favourite insult into my forearm," she stated, hoping her words came over as deep and meaningful as they felt in her head.

"Low blow, Granger."

Faintly, she noticed him slipping an arm around her shoulders and turning her another direction.

"I don't do 'low blow' before the second date." Her own arm naturally settling around his waist, Hermione grabbed the hem of his shirt to play with it. Huh? Did she really shift this conversation into the sexual innuendo sector? A conversation with her fellow Head (hehehe, 'giving Head', did anyone ever use the expression in combination with him?) turned into a one-sided flirting conquest?

Fuck, but he smelled like she wanted to bury her nose in his scent all the day. "Ooops!" The Golden Girl just realized that her head had fallen to Malfoy's shoulder while he steered her to what she supposed was their common room.

"Ooops? How elaborate!" Draco's (yes, she called him that in her head, because this word had a softer, more personal sound to it than 'Malfoy') voice held its usual arrogance, but also a bout of unbridled humour.

"That was on-, onomo-" she formulated between giggles.

"Onomatopoetic?" the blond eye-candy who knew how to navigate a library suggested.

"Yeah, that one. I basically said you smell and feel good enough to take you in my bed and keep you there." A sober sounding voice reminded her that she shouldn't have said that. His fingertips twitched the bare skin of her shoulder. It was then she remembered she had let herself talk into a tight piece of top that tended to show more of her breasts than she was used to.

"My fellow, innocent Head Girl, you really shouldn't say something like that!"

She stopped her walking and gazed up to the man with the irresistible grey eyes. "What if I'm done doing what everyone thinks I should be doing?"

Boy, his answering smirk would have made the Sahara humid. "In that case…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some more experience with other sites, so I'm a bit uncertain whether this story is received positively here. Nevertheless, I'm going to continue it here for now.   
> A huge shout-out to MrBenzedrine89, who beta'ed this with her usual patience and encouragment.

Hermione, having had her fair share of alcohol consumption after the War, wasn’t one who forgot her drunken misbehaviour. So when she woke up with the sunlight blinding her, she knew exactly what had transpired the night before.

She had practically molested her fellow Head.

She had wanted him out of his perfectly tailored shirt and in her bed. And she had said so.

And all because she had been sad, and angry, and horny.

Cursing her memory and that personality that appeared on stage when she had some drinks, the curly haired witch fought herself into a sitting position, her head immediately reminding that too much alcohol consumption was inclined to cause massive headaches.

What the Hell was that? On her night stand, next to her wand, stood three vials of potions the bright witch instantly identified as following: Sobering potion, Headache solution, and-

“Oh no! Nononono!”

-Contraceptive potion. 

With a fast realisation, Hermione looked down on herself and spotted her usual boring cotton nightgown she kept neatly folded beneath her pillow over the day. Somehow, she had changed into her night clothes, ergo she had been naked at some point. And she faintly remembered how someone had helped her - long, elegant fingers that pulled her top over her head and opened her bra behind her back while she buried her head in the man’s neck, nibbling, inhaling the strong, male scent that lingered in the bathroom after he used it dancing in her nose, enveloping her senses; a hand, her hand, sneaking down to open his belt buckle…

A chuckle, his chuckle, interrupted her memory refreshment.

Hermione turned her head towards him, not caring that her nightgown wasn't exactly covering her modesty. After all she had deduced, he had seen her in less. The prat casually leaned against her door post and had donned his characteristic smirk.

“Very funny, Malfoy. Go and play bad boy again, will you?” The venomous tone of her voice usually caused people to shrink away. It didn’t work on that particularly arrogant purebloods, it seemed, for the wizard didn’t move an inch.

“You have been bad enough for both of us last night, Granger.”

Hermione winced in a mix of pounding headache and shame. 

“You better take these potions.”

 

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

Nevertheless, she started with the Sobering potion, followed by the Headache solution, and both made her feel loads better. When her fingers closed around the third vial, she hesitated. Never before she had suffered memory loss after drinking, and she hadn’t even been that gone last night. Aware of the Head Boy’s lingering stare, she took a moment to feel her body - no aching muscles in her womb, no sore skin between her legs, no handprints anywhere. Gotcha.

“Either you are not as brilliant as a lover the other witches colour you to be,” her voice gained conviction while she spoke, “or you deliberately made me believe we had...intimate contact last night.”

Draco’s smirk widened, not in the least insulted. “Three minutes, Granger, not bad. I thought it would take you longer to find out.” Even in her now sober state of mind, Hermione couldn’t deny to acknowledge what a delectable specimen Draco Malfoy had become. He wasn’t as tall as Ron, but was still some inches taller than her. His seeker built had refined, so he was supporting some decent muscles and broad shoulders. The vast amount of time he spent on the Quidditch pitch had even tanned his pale complexion and vanished the sickly appearance they all had after the War. He held himself with an air of natural confidence laced with a dry sense of witty humour, and that, above all, was what made him attractive to Hermione. Which didn’t prohibit her to haul a pillow at him with a snap of her fingers.

“You’re disgusting! You stripped me out of my clothes and made me believe we had sex! You took shameless advantage of my vulnerable state!” Hermione shrieked, fully knowing she was exaggerating things.

“Seriously?” came the sarcastic reply from the man who had effortlessly caught the pillow. He crossed the distance to her bed and casually placed it back on the mattress next to her. Then he leaned down with a smirk and spoke next to her ear, “I am inclined to say: if I would have taken advantage of your vulnerable state, you would be in need of that third potion now, because I would have given into your begging. And you would still be recovering now.” His sudden proximity left her more than a little breathless. But, thankfully, Draco turned away and walked towards the door.

“Instead, you simply divested me of my clothes and heroically fought off my improper advances?” she called after him when he almost had left her bedroom, realizing the slightly disappointed (and highly unwelcome) tone.

His hands buried in his trouser pockets, the blond let his eyes wander over her body as if remembering her curves before he winked at her. “Who said playing the hero isn’t fun?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like the direction the story is taking! And thank you to the kind people leaving a review. 
> 
> Also thank you to my wonderful beta, MrBenzedrine89. I have to brag a little, because I'm so proud of her: She won with four (4!) stories in this year's Dramione Spring awards. So give her all the praise she deserves for that!

This time, she had been smart. Well, Hermione was always smart, as everybody couldn’t shut up about, not even her own overactive, know-it-all mind. But she wanted to avoid another embarrassing encounter with the Head Boy if she could. And this was why, after again fleeing from her friends heavily tipsy, she climbed up to the Astronomy Tower.

There she sat, her back leaning against the hard stones of Hogwart’s outer walls, and contemplated her life in the chilly, but refreshing, air of the night. 

“We have to stop meeting like this, Granger. Otherwise, people might be concerned about your virtue.”

Chance really had a fucking vendetta against her, it seemed. 

In the corner of her vision, the witch saw the blond-sin standing in the entry way. That sight alone made her grumpy, because the breeze ruffled his platinum hair into an even more perfect casual look, while it only brought more knots and chaos into her curls.

“I came here on purpose. I knew you have rounds today, but I expected you to behave like your usual self and avoid this place.” 

“Because I'm a coward?” His voice was calm but unmistakably defensive now. Hermione knew he spoke about the night Dumbledore died. Though, Hermione never held that against him. Being an arsehole for the better part of their schooling? A definite yes. Breaking under the pressure of threat and fear when it wasn’t even clear there was another option? No.

“More because it's so far up, and you like to ditch your duties,” she spoke openly, hoping she succeeded in slipping a good amount of sarcasm into her words. A pause followed in which one could hear a compilation of feral noises from the nearby Forbidden Forest. Merlin knew which kind of creatures coupled there tonight. 

Just when she had almost forgotten Draco’s presence, he asked with his characteristic drawl, “What did you drink today?” 

Nosey bastard. For whatever reason, she still replied, “Wine.”

“Okay, so cheap firewhiskey makes you handsy, cheap wine makes you passive-aggressive. Which kind of liquor makes you silly, or simply less smart?”

Damn, she had an answer to that one. “Vodka. Or, to continue your line: cheap vodka. A Bulgarian Quidditch team, too much self-distilled vodka, and some very bad, but delightfully naughty decisions.”

The wizard snorted quite uncharacteristically. “Really? Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.”

“And one I won’t tell tonight. Or ever.”

Another pause.

And again, it was the Slytherin who ended it. “Why did you leave the Gryffindor party you were supposed to enjoy yourself at?” 

She just had to go and inform him about her plans earlier, hadn’t she? “Seriously? I couldn't stand the display of happiness anymore. Somehow, I feel out of place. Lavender and Ron are all over each other. Again, I might add; it’s disgusting. And all Ginny wants to talk about is their wedding. I am 19, and she's going to be 18 when they marry straight after graduation. What the fuck should I care about weddings at our age?” It felt strangely good to share parts of her frustrations with someone, even if it was with an arrogant pureblood. 

“Don't all girls have a planner around in which they write down their ideas of how they want their wedding to be?” And a sexist he was, too.

“Sorry, mine must have gone lost either during the research for a piece of a power-hungry, racist snake, or it could still lie in the Room of Hidden Things where I cried over the separation from my ginger boyfriend. Oh wait, I forgot, the room was burnt down in a battle all over the school that was supposed to be my safe haven.” 

“Sarcastic, too.” Draco pretended to write in a notebook. 

“I'm not being sarcastic; I'm realistic,” she opposed him. 

“Sometimes, realism and pessimism are way too close to each other.” Draco left his position and stretched out his hands to her. She hesitated to take them, but he kept swinging them in front of her face, the signet ring sparkling mockingly emerald in the moonlight. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows, a move Harry accused her of having copied from the man in front of her. “You're way too well-mannered around me recently.” 

He pulled her up easily, but in her inebriated state, she lost her balance and fell against him. This time, her hands landed on his equally firm pectorals. Attractive git.

“Manners, yes. But I don't know how much longer I'm obligated to fulfill them if you keep your irregular pattern of being the damsel in drunken distress.” Draco’s tone conveyed his lack of seriousness, and his arms reached around to steady her.

“I'm not even sure your manners apply for my kind, if you ask your dear father. But I suppose, a bit of misbehaviour from your side can’t hurt.” 

His answer came as a husky whisper, more to himself than to her. “Don't tempt me.” 

“I wouldn't dare. That would be pretty silly, I guess. A lion tempting a snake. Though I more feel like a the smart, ugly duckling among a flock of doves.” Sweet Circe, was standing up tiresome.

His grip loosened without vanishing completely, and his expression turned serious. “That metaphor doesn’t make sense. But...maybe that's exactly what you need.” 

“What? To be silly?” Her eyes grew heavier by the second.

“Yes. Let me do the thinking for once.” 

“Alright,” she mumbled, her head coming to rest against the hard planes of his chest.

“You must be indeed drunk to accept that from my charming person. But we will see what you are going to say in the morning about that.” She couldn’t see his face, but she was pretty sure he grinned.

*()*()*()*()*()*()*

“Good morning, sunshine!” Draco greeted Hermione cheerfully when she entered the kitchenette area of their head dorm in the morning. To treat themselves with snacks and beverages whenever she felt the need was one of the big advantages of being a Head.

Hermione groaned. “Jesus, with this bubbly mood, you belong in Hufflepuff!” The blond merely chuckled and grinned while she thankfully grabbed the coffee mug he handed her. A splash of milk, no sugar. The two of them hadn’t exactly become friends, or even ‘nighttime companions’ (as Hermione’s granny said for ‘fuck buddies’), but they certainly knew how the other liked their coffee. It had become a habit for them to forego the breakfast in the Great Hall on Sundays and stayed in to plan the week, and so Hermione smiled at the fresh croissants that appeared on the kitchen counter.

“I missed the potions on my bedside table today,” Hermione pouted dramatically.

“Well, if you hadn’t to ruthlessly attacked me last time…” 

She stuck her tongue out at him.

They started to dig in in companionable silence. Once the witch had calmed her rumbling stomach and was on her second coffee, she had the brain capacity to articulate, “Independent from what’s on our agenda coming week, we should have a heart-to-heart talk with some of the Prefects. Theo was caught by McGonagall again making out with both Patil sisters in a broom cupboard when he should have checked in with her before going on rounds.” 

“Actually,” Malfoy replied, “I have a personal thing to discuss with you.”

“Oh no, which of your fangirls did you knock up? Astoria? Pansy? That big busted slag from Ravenclaw?”

“Her name is Sally, and Salazar, none of them! My godfather was a Potions Master, trust me, I can brew contraceptive potions in my sleep. It’s about what happened last night-”

Oh no. He wanted to talk about it. It was time to be a Gryffindor and face the music.  
“Look, Malfoy, maybe I should apologize for-”

“I wasn’t finished,” he interrupted her interruption, layering his usual arrogance with an undertone of dominance that sent irritating signals to her subconscious. “The attentive man I am,” she coughed at that, “I couldn’t help but notice your unusual behaviour. And for reasons I don’t want to investigate, but your are probably going to tell me anyway in every detail, your little lion pack doesn’t satisfy you anymore. Yet, even you need to let that thing you call your hair down from time to time.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to make a deal with the Devil.”

“Not quite. But close. I’d like to give you the honors to be initiated into the Slytherin way of having fun by me, Miss Granger.”

Gods, that sounded saucy coming from his mouth in his aristocratic drawl.

Even though he most probably pursued his own plans with his offer, she didn’t mind the risk for once.

“Spill.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without much further ado, I give you the next chapter. It's longer than the last ones, and I hope you like it! Thank you for your support!
> 
> Beta love to MrBenzedrine89, who so patiently deals with me, even if I'm not at my nicest!

“Spill.”

“Before we can start, and you’re going to be very happy at this, there are some rules, or rather tasks for you to fulfill.” Hermione assumed he had put some thought in this, because he spoke like he had a plan.

“Slytherins get what they want. That’s our rule number one.”

“I feel like I signed up for a Slytherin exchange, or worse, adoption program,” Hermione commented, half-serious.

“You wish, but no. For you to have fun like a Slytherin, you have to act like one. Though, I doubt you can, given your background.” Even leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand and clad in sweatpants (that hung low enough to reveal the dark green waistband of his boxers) and a loose Slytherin Quidditch t-shirt, Draco managed to exude aristocratic arrogance and sexiness in heaps. Enough of both, at least, to make her blood pressure rise a fraction. 

She narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was a threatening way. “Background? If you insult my blood status again, I'm going to hex you to next week - sans your balls.” 

“Easy, spitfire. I merely insulted your House,” he said, chuckling, though pressing his legs a bit closer together. “The rule is very functional, as you will see. Let's say you want this weekend free of your duties because you’ve got plans for a night out.”

“But I don’t have plans.”

Draco tsked. “If you are a good student and follow the rules I set, you are going to have some. I trust you to get the weekend off somehow.”

As someone who never skipped her duties or procrastinated, this was really a challenge for her. “But how?” 

“I have seen so many Slytherin girls using their special assets to get what they want. You could do that, too.” Draco grinned at her. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

His grin widened, and he stepped closer to her. “Probably. All I say is it’s no shame when you use your feminine wiles from time to time. A bit of flirting hurts no one. I do it quite often.” He stopped mere inches in front of her so she could smell his cologne now. Hermione had to tilt her face up to look into his eyes - grave mistake when she desperately willed away the instant effect he had on her. It was like stepping into silver quicksand. - You want out, but this mass doesn't let you, drags you deeper in what your instinct says is dangerous.

The wizard’s hand reached up to her face, and her first impulse was to back away. But then, he gently tucked an errant curl behind her left ear, lightly scraping her cheek with his fingers in the process. All without interrupting the eye contact. “And I don’t think it’s going to be problematic for you, pretty girl. Will you try it?” 

He winked at her, and that freed her from the undoubtedly hormone-induced stupor. The palms of her hands flat on his Quidditch-toned (grumble) chest, she pushed him away from her. 

“You’re trying to sugarcoat me!” And she couldn’t believe she was so easy to play!

“It worked, didn’t it?” And with a very smug expression on his handsome face, he turned on his heels and disappeared into his room. 

Hermione decided to go with Draco’s plans for her because of different reasons: for one, she wanted to prove to him that she could do anything if she wanted. Second, she knew he was right in all his observations concerning her and provided her an outlet. And, lastly, the witch doubted he would do her any real harm - even if he probably had his own intentions.

That was why, when she entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, she didn’t take her usual route to sit with Harry and Ron (and Ginny...and Lavender…). Instead, she stopped behind Dean and casually placed her hands on his shoulders. The wizard, upon having his shoulders squeezed lightly in ways of greeting, was obviously surprised that it was Hermione. She treated Harry and Ron like that regularly, but she wasn’t so touchy-feely with him or Seamus, who sat on the other side of the table. With a cheerful, “Hi boys!” she settled down next to Dean and poured herself a glass of water.

“Hey, Hermione. How are you?” Seamus asked with his lovely Irish accent.

Alright, she wanted to try. ‘Take what you want. And you want the weekend off,’ she repeated in her head. She nestled with the top buttons of her white blouse as if checking that they were secured - of course, they were - wanting to represent a regular Slytherin, not...Pansy. The boys’ attention thus focusing on the general area of her chest, she stretched languidly, rubbing her back. 

“All in all, I’m fine. But...those hours in the library, bent over a table...my back hurts like Hell. I so want to take a long, relaxing, hot bath. But there’s no time, you know?” Dean and Seamus blinked owlishly, eyes transfixed on her breasts as if suddenly realizing she had some. “I wish I could at least have one on Saturday, but I’m on patrol duty that night…” she thoughtfully trailed off. Seamus absent-mindedly poured himself some pumpkin juice - on his dish. Hermione felt both disgusted and amused at the sight. Dean, gulping loudly, jumped in. 

“If you want to, I-I could take that shift. You should take care of yourself - and your body. We don’t want our brilliant Head Girl to collapse, right?” He smiled at her, honest and open, and she almost felt bad to manipulate him like that. But, then again, she really wanted to take care of herself for once. And that meant delegating some tasks and doing whatever Draco had planned.

Hermione tousled his hair while getting up from the bench, giving him the look of a petted dog. “You’re such a good friend, Dean. Thanks for helping me.” She briefly thought about adding a Slytherin-y, ‘I’ll make sure to reward you.’ But that would have been too much. Glancing over to the Slytherin table, she spotted Draco between Blaise and Theo, soundlessly clapping his hands and applauding her to following his instructions.

*()*()*()*()*()*()*()*

“Oh, Mister Weasley, that still doesn’t look remotely like a proper Protego Maxima,” Professor Dawlish chastised Ron while checking on their work in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. ”Miss Granger, would you mind helping?” 

“Yes,” Hermione stated as firmly as she could muster.

Dawlish hadn’t even registered the answer. “Fine, then come over here-” 

“I said I do mind.” The clocks stopped ticking, her classmates stop breathing, and Hermione half-expected a headline in the Daily Prophet about this, ‘From Teacher’s Pet to Rebellious Amazon - Hermione Granger talks back to a teacher.’ Her insides squirmed as if digesting something sour. Well, it was something sour for her. “I won’t help him.”

“And what, pray tell, Miss Granger, qualified you to decide so?” The class was deadly silent. Draco, practising next to her, whispered, “It’s alright, consider this ticked off. You may save him before your moral compass explodes.” 

But she didn't do things halfway, and so she straightened her back and explained, “Experience, Professor. Imagine this would happen in a real duel. No one would be there to help him. I believe he’s going to master this all on his own.”

Dawlish, it seemed, decided to consider them as the adults they were and turned back to Ron. “Mister Weasley, Miss Granger appears to have more faith in your abilities than me. Better not disappoint her.” With that, the professor focused his attention to Justin, who, if you asked Hermione, was more lenient to take someone’s eye out than throw up a stable shield.

Her redheaded friend still stood there with his mouth open, processing what had happened. Somehow, he was so cute that Hermione wanted to snap a photo of it. But cuddling wasn’t the adequate tactic here. “Don’t give me that look, Ronald! Do you want to become an Auror or not? Then practise your arse off! I can’t come to your rescue every time you’re too lazy to read the instructions!” 

Ron grinned, went over to her, and hugged her firmly. 

“What-” she muttered, confused. Shouldn’t he be angry at her?

“Let me. I’m just glad you have some of your fire back,” he spoke and returned to his task immediately. Hermione frowned. So she had followed Draco’s second challenge ‘Deny a professor if you have the opportunity’. But that shouldn’t feel so good, should it?

 

*()*()*()*()*()*()*()*

“Where are we going?” Their footsteps echoed through the nightly silence of the dimly lit hallways of the castle. 

“You will see.”

“What are we going to do there?”

“Whatever we are going to do.”

“When are going to leave again?”

“When we’re finished.”

“Why can’t we do it in the daylight?”

“Merlin, Granger!” Finally, Draco cracked under her incessant nagging. Mission accomplished. “Have you ever considered Snape was absolutely right to call you an insufferable know-it-all?” he asked rhetorically, because, yes, Hermione knew her personality could be quite challenging for others. “Can’t you simply lean back and go with whatever it is we’re going to do? It’s not as if I plan to kidnap you and test my performance in the Unforgivables at you!” 

“You know, there was a time where you would have done that. And you would have been forced to do so.” All playfulness was gone from Draco’s behaviour at Hermione’s so brutally true comment. 

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, finding sudden interest in his shoes. “I won’t contradict you here. I apologize for my insensitivity.” 

She nodded curtly, grateful for his maturity, but not wanting to dwell on the past any longer, as it haunted her enough.

“Soooo...where are we going?” she voiced, her tone deliberately light. Draco rolled his eyes, but his lips curled upward.

“You’re worse than niffler on a gold trace! ‘Doing something not entirely forbidden, not not exactly allowed,’ is tonight’s motto. Interested?” He wriggled his eyebrows.

“Forget it, Malfoy, I’m not partaking in an orgy with your snake and its friends,” Hermione quipped, though she didn’t feel the need to express that a one-on-one with his snake wasn’t entirely in the realms of the impossible for her. 

Draco laughed, “We’re not there - yet. Such an event would need a lot more preparation. Anyway, we’re making a trip to the kitchens and are going help ourselves to our favourite desserts.” The brunette was almost disappointed at the tameness of the plan, but that was quickly scattered at the his boyish grin. Unfair.

“What are you going to get?” he wanted to know.

Hermione answered truthfully, “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so much into sweets.” 

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, scandalized. ”I haven’t told you to lie like a Slytherin!” 

“I didn’t lie! My parents are dentists, so all the sweets in my childhood were sugar-free. When I arrived at Hogwarts, I tried the sugary versions, but I don’t enjoy them. Though, I like fruits!” 

“Not much into sweets...unbelievable,” the blond mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. “But fruits...I think I can work with that!” Hermione didn’t know if she should be anxious or excited at the mischievous undertone.

Five minutes later, Draco placed a bowl filled with liquid chocolate between the witch and himself. A bowl of strawberries followed. The aroma of the ripe, sweet fruits filled her nose and watered her mouth. She reached out to take one, but a slap on her hand interrupted her.

“No. I don’t let you have simple, Gryffindor-y fruits. You have to cover them with delicious darkness.” Merlin, she knew he was talking about dessert, but still, his words led to a certain dampness in her knickers. ”Here, let me show you.” He picked a strawberry and dipped it into the chocolate. After a bit of spinning it, the fruit was covered almost wholly. Captivated, Hermione followed his movements with her eyes, observed how Draco engulfed it with his sinful lips, the tip of his tongue showing for a second. The strawberry disappeared into his mouth, and her gaze was still fixated on him when he chewed and then swallowed. Hell, Hermione wanted to be that strawberry, covered with cavity causing substances or not.

“It’s your turn.” Draco dived into the bowl again and dipped another fruit. His elbow on the table, he offered it to her, his eyes never leaving hers. She leaned towards him, fully intending to play her biblic part and accept the forbidden fruit the snake had talked her into. She parted her lips, anticipating the sweet treat--

\-- And then felt something wet at her nose. Irritated, she broke the unholy eye contact and attempted to look at her nose. That must have given her quite the dumb expression because Draco broke out in barking laughter.The sound was so distracting that it took her at least three seconds to realize what had happened: she had chocolate dripping from her nose and the fruit was still in his hand. Draco must have missed her mouth while their eyes were locked.

“Oh, you! Stop laughing! Good thing you’re playing Seeker and not Chaser, as you miss the loop from the smallest distance!” She threw a strawberry at him, and, to her own surprise, it landed directly between his eyes.

Draco squinted, and stood up from his stool. “Revenge is a dish best served with strawberries!” he shouted, and a moment later, one of the fruits collided with her chest. 

She laughed, but tried to sound menacing when she hauled one at him, “Your new hair colour is going to be strawberry blond, mister!” She ducked under the table. When nothing happened but silence, the witch carefully peeked over the top. No Draco. 

“Awww, is the big bad Slytherin hiding?”

“No.” A voice behind her reasoned, and Hermione turned with a start to find the blond standing directly behind her. “Waiting, so I can strike!” From nowhere, he produced the chocolate bowl - and emptied it over her head. Hermione squealed, the warm substance covering her hair and face, trickling down on her shirt. He grinned triumphantly, taking in her disheveled appearance. “Ha! I didn’t miss this time! What do you have to say now, witch?”

Laughter bubbling up in her chest, Hermione brought forth, “That we Gryffindors are terribly touchy-feely!” Before he could register what she had said, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly and distributing the sticky brown substance equally between them. While she expected him to push her away, the wizard snickered and hugged her back. She wanted to pause for a bit here, relishing the embrace, but the sneaky git had other plans: his fingers scurried under her blouse and started tickling her sides. So, instead of enjoying his hands-on approach, she giggled helplessly.

“Please, tell me I had one whisky too much and merely having hallucinations!” A strict voice resonated through the kitchens. Draco and Hermione jumped apart as if electrocuted and were met with Headmistress McGonagall’s incredulous glare.

“We, uhm…”

“You see, there’s…” The young adults spoke at the same time, failing miserably at a reasonable explanation. 

The impressive witch sighed. “After all those hard times you had, I think you deserve to be young and foolish sometimes, as long as it’s not too heavy. Let’s put this away as ‘unconventional promotion of house unity,’ yes?” Her expression softened; still she managed to condemn their behaviour with a stern look over the rim of her glasses. “You better clean this mess up now.” With that, McGonagall turned on her heels and left them alone with chocolate and strawberries covering every surface in a few meters diameter, including themselves.

More sober, but with a remaining giddiness, the two of them scourgified the chaos. When they were almost finished, Hermione spoke up, “Thank you. I had more fun than I’d like to admit tonight.” And she really meant it that way.

Another knicker-dampening smirk. “Well, I should offer your my congratulations, then; you’ve mastered all three challenges in stride.” He pocketed his wand and winked at her. “We’re going out on Saturday. Doll yourself up if you can.” He was challenging her again, that much was clear. 

And she enjoyed it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a while...and I'm sorry for that. But I had a lot to do work-wise and finished another story first (Do it with some style?). But now I can proudly present you the next chapter!
> 
> Huge beta love to MrBenzedrine89 - she works too much.  
> Also, a huge thank you to Slytherinmomma88 - you know why!

 

The week practically flew by, and, more than once, Hermione caught herself thinking in excitement about the upcoming weekend. When Saturday finally rolled around, she treated herself with a scented bath before she started to dress. Just as the brunette had begun the long process to entangle her wet curls, someone knocked at the door. Knowing Draco had left half an hour ago with the words ‘I’ll be back,’ she had no choice but to wrap her towel tight around her and open the door to the Head dorms. It could be an emergency, after all. 

 

Instead of the occasional homesick first year student or a heartbroken, sobbing witch that needed a shoulder to cry on, it was Ginny, who held some colourful magazines in her hands. Usually one to hug for greeting, the Gryffindor refrained when she saw Hermione’s state of undress. “Oh, sorry. If I had known that you were taking a bath, I would have-”

 

“It’s alright.” Hermione smiled at the other witch. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I just wanted to invite you to our Gryffindor common room. The new magazines arrived, and in one of them are some pretty awesome bridesmaid dresses. I thought you’d be interested in which monstrosity I’d put you in.” The young woman, almost still a girl, got that excited twinkle she always developed when talking about her and Harry’s wedding, planned for shortly after graduation. 

 

For whatever reason, Hermione didn’t want to share her plans for the evening. Not that she could give a detailed description of them, anyway. But she was pretty sure the sentence, ‘I’m spending tonight with Draco, who’s going to reward me for being a good Slytherin this week’ would not cause a delighted squeal. “Sorry, Gin, another time, right? I’m certain Lavender will be very helpful in my absence. I really have things to do…” 

 

“What’s up, Hermione?” Ginny interrupted her excuses. 

 

“What should be?” Hermione asked.

 

Ginny scrutinized her. “You seem...I don’t even know how to describe it. Distanced? Laid-back? We used to be such a tight-knitted group, but now you rarely spend time with us anymore.” 

 

The answer was evasive. “Well, there’s so much for me to do. Head Girl duties and studying...but I assure you, I’m fine.” 

 

“Maybe if you found a boyfriend, you would-” 

 

“I said I’m  _ fine _ , Ginny. “ Merlin, the red-head in front of her really became more and more like her mother - always meddling. Though, Hermione knew that happened with good intentions.

Ginny frowned at Hermione’s unusually rude behaviour. But Hermione didn’t want to explain herself this time. Yes, she knew she wasn’t exactly polite, but, Hell, she had been the good girl too long in everyone’s expectations, hadn’t she?  

 

“Alright. I guess it must be very important to you, then.” Without so much as a goodbye, Ginny left the Head dorm. For a second, Hermione debated whether she had done the right thing to brush her friend off. But what would have happened had she gone to the Gryffindors? She would have felt left out again, the fifth leg of a Hippogriff. She couldn’t feel the ecstatic atmosphere of an upcoming wedding, nor the rush of a rekindled relationship. It wasn’t jealousy she felt, not even envy. Just...like not belonging, not fitting in. 

 

The boys and her had gone through so much together, fought demons of all kinds, and, despite it being a bumpy road at times, remained friends, even after she and Ron had broken up. However, when the dust had settled after the War, slowly but surely, a rift between them became apparent. It wasn’t as if they had a huge fight or a fallout of some kind; they simply drifted apart. 

 

Hermione didn’t want to settle down at the first opportunity, she didn’t went all girly about a bridal reception, she wasn’t a friend of gigglish and red-faced confessions of what dirty things Lavender had done to Ron in the bedroom (if a blow-job could be considered as dirty). So, she had packed her things and escaped for a while, travelled, visited Viktor (that’s where she learned some _ really _ dirty things). And it had felt so right, being free of any boundaries. She could be herself, careless about other people’s feelings, unafraid about finding things boring other women squealed about or deeming circumstances exciting that only elicited a yawn from others. But since the school year had started again, the whole mess was back - the feeling of being an outsider, of being different. Don’t get her wrong, Hermione was still a stickler to rules, a know-it-all, and top of her classes, but- 

 

A door opening interrupted her musings, followed by a sarcastic drawl. “I would have bought you something if you couldn’t afford a real dress, Granger.” Turning around, Hermione faced three men - Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Draco himself, all looking very dapper in their dark slacks and fitted t-shirts. Trying hard not to blush in her towel, she replied, as coyly as she could muster, “And I already told you  _ no _ to an orgy with your friends!” 

 

“The night is still young,  _ tesoro _ .” Blaise winked at her, and Theo added, “Besides, if this is an orgy, we shouldn't start without Pansy. She’s always so angry when that happens.” 

 

For a second, Hermione pondered if she should ask for more background info, but decided against it when Draco practically pushed her into the bathroom. “As tempting as this sight is, you should change into something else. And hurry up. Our portkey is scheduled in twenty minutes.” In the bathroom, one hand still holding the towel, the witch processed what her fellow Head had thrown at her:  _ ‘Did Draco say I was a tempting sight only seconds ago? Or was he talking about himself again?’  _ She then decided it was useless to ponder that and dressed. 

 

Generally someone who preferred trousers over skirts, she had chosen an outfit she wouldn’t count as ‘dolled up’ in the girlish sense of the word, but still made her feel quite confident. Her tight jeans hugged her curvy behind like a glove, and her feet rested in red, high heeled sandals she had bought in a fit of irrationality last summer. A simple black top and red, dangling earrings completed the outfit. She knew she would never be the belle of the ball, but, damn, she felt good. A bit of mascara, the vigorous use of the brush to make her curls fall over her back in something that resembled order, and she was prepared to face the world. 

 

“Look, Granger’s got toes - and tits!” The gentle voice of Pansy Parkinson greeted her when she entered the common room. Merlin, the Head dorm unarguably suffered under a Slytherin manifestation tonight. 

 

“Thanks, I guess?” Hermione replied. With a practised move the poor brunette couldn’t possibly have anticipated, Pansy cupped her breasts, weighing and wiggling them. After two seconds of shock, she slapped the other witch on the wrists. “Hey!” 

 

Pansy, unimpressed but lowering her hands, addressed the three gaping wizards, and Hermione noticed the unusual darkness Draco’s eyes now sported. “No push-up!” the Slytherin witch declared merrily. 

 

“I can hardly imagine that this was a pureblood greeting between ladies,” Hermione commented, still a bit irritated. 

 

“She discards her manners when we’re going out. Though, she’s much more fun to be around like that.” Theo winked at her. “What about you,  _ Hermione _ , are you also stripping down your proper decorum?” 

 

“Oh, you  _ so  _ want to find that out, don’t you, Theo?” Feeling daring, Hermione winked back at the dark blond wizard. 

 

“And that’s why we should all hurry up before our portkey goes partying on his own.” These words came from a slightly gruff Draco, who fished a thin golden chain from his trouser pocket now.  

 

Ever curious, she asked, “Where did you get that portkey from, Draco?” 

 

“Aaaand, there it is.” The blond smirked, as if he had waited for the question. “Before you ask: no, it isn’t illegal. No, I didn’t steal it. And, yes, it sometimes comes in handy to own a family business. Can we go now?” Playfully, he swung the chain in front of her eyes, and that was when she discovered it had a kind of pendant attached to it. 

 

“Fine. We can go,” Hermione conceded. “But if you come up with any funny business-” 

 

“You will Apparate straightly back to Hogsmeade. We expected that much.” Wow, he wasn’t even sarcastic. 

 

She prodded Draco into the side. “Stop interrupting me, Mister Malfoy. If -  or should I say  _ when _ \- you Slytherins come up with any funny business, make sure to include me. I’m feeling rather reckless tonight.” 

While Draco’s expression showed something bordering concern, an admiring smirk came from Blaise, one she was aware was usually reserved for those witches who made the walk of shame from the dungeons the next morning. Now that was a train she really didn’t want to take, but a bit of flirting couldn’t hurt. That’s what Draco had told her, hadn’t he?

 

Grabbing the golden chain, Pansy impatiently supplied, “Yes, yes, we get it: the little kitten is primed for some action. Now hold on, boys, or the Gryffindor Princess and I are going out alone. Not that I would mind.” 

 

Okay, at some point, preferably when she was either drunk or very tired, Hermione  _ had _ to ask about what Pansy meant with that last statement. For the moment, though, feeling both excited and with the nagging feeling to do something forbidden, Hermione held onto the portkey, the small space demanding that she touched shoulders with Draco and Theo. Being pressed through a narrow tunnel next to two handsome wizards wasn’t the worst way to travel, she found.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe some readers consider Hermione as OOC here - and they may even be right. But do you remember being 19 and a bookworm with some wild moments? See, I do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thanks for all the patience you have with me. I was busy having summer holidays and writing for the Strictly Dramione movie fest (fb-group).
> 
> As always, hugs and kisses to MrBenzedrine89 for beta'ing and kicking my butt when it's neccessary (and that's often the case).
> 
> Also, I got many super sweet reviews about readers being so very understanding of Hermione's 'OOC-ness' and the way she reacts. You're awesome, guys!

When Hermione’s feet touched ground again, she found herself in front of a posh wizarding club - apparently those really existed in Britain. She had visited a handful of them on her travels, but this was the first time she was about to enter an English one. Too great was the public’s interest in the Golden Trio’s life after the War that they couldn’t go out with their friends unnoticed.

 

“Don’t worry, Granger, the  _ Sphinx _ is an exclusive etablissement.” Theo clapped her shoulder. 

 

“And you’re sure you want to bring _ me  _ into it? I could ruin your pristine reputation. Oh, I know; you need me to solve the riddle to get in. And here I thought you invited me along to have fun,” Hermione’s voice sounded a tad shrill when she said that.

 

“You want to say that solving riddles isn’t your idea of a fun evening?” Blaise asked innocently. Just before Hermione could answer, ‘That’s my idea of our first year at Hogwarts,’ Draco explained, “What Theo means,” he looked at the other wizard reproachfully, “is that there’s no press allowed in here, so there won’t be a headline of the Gryffindor Princess dancing among snakes in the  _ Prophet  _ tomorrow.” While he spoke, Draco unfastened the chain formerly known as a portkey and stepped behind Hermione.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hermione asked with a slight wobble, because his fingertips ghosted over the skin of her neck as he brushed her her aside. 

 

“I think that this chain is too pretty to go to waste because it has served its purpose,” he stated matter-of-factly and refastened the chain. The witch touched the simple, tear shaped red stone hanging on it.

 

“Draco, this isn’t a real stone, right?” 

 

The man rolled his eyes. “Trust you not to recognize the difference. You aren’t my girlfriend, after all. Of course, it’s fake.” 

 

Pansy covered her laugh with a cough, and Blaise smirked at his friend. “What isn’t fake is this club. Come on, let’s get in and have some fun.”

* * *

 

Leather armchairs, tables made of checkers tree, chandeliers with blue bell flames instead of candles - the insides of the club reeked of Galleons. Though, if that meant no nosey reporters, Hermione could deal with it for one night. Blaise, Theo, Pansy, and Draco made their way through the dancing crowds like they had spent a lot of time here - which they probably did - and settled down in a set back area with a bit more privacy. Private was a synonym for cozy, apparently, for the whole group settled around one round table. Again, Hermione found herself between gorgeous men - Draco and Blaise this time. In true teamwork, both extended their arms behind her back, so that she couldn’t avoid physical contact. She settled for leaning against Draco’s arm and rubbing knees with Blaise. Not that she was afraid to touch them, but being so close to two wizards that oozed sexiness even when having breakfast was a tad distracting. It didn’t help that Draco’s scent drifted to her nose and that she could feel Blaise’s body heat seeping through her jeans. She hated  to be a young woman at the moment - even  _ she _ didn’t have the self-control to be unaffected by such an impact of...manliness. 

 

So when their drinks arrived after Theo ordered, “the usual, and a firewhiskey for the pretty brunette,” Hermione was thankful to have something to hold onto. But before she tasted her own drink, she snatched the colourful one from Draco’s hand faster than he could lift it to his lips, simply curious as to which contraband it would hold.

 

She nearly spluttered after tasting it. “But... there’s barely alcohol in it!” she complained. 

 

“Uh, yes…” Pansy said. 

 

“Why are you so surprised?” Theo interjected.

 

Draco’s dry laugh tickled against the skin at her neck. She hadn’t even realized she sat so close to him.“Because the little spitfire here expected us to get punch drunk and dance naked on the streets.” 

 

“I won’t deny that. Add an illegal drug or two, and you have what I thought was a fun Slytherin night.” She really had expected something more pompous or forbidden, especially after his expert handling of the ‘morning after’ potions when he had brought her to bed. But the other Slytherins didn’t need to know that. 

 

“It’s not as if we don’t enjoy getting buzzed in the privacy of our dorms, but we can’t afford a public slip. Some less than others,” explained Blaise, and his eyes fell on Draco, who had become very quiet. Hermione didn’t like him that way and tried to alleviate the tension. 

 

“So not sex, drugs, and Rock’n’Roll?” 

 

Blaise released a deep laugh that resonated in her stomach and placed a hand on her knee closest to him. “Only one of the above. Guess which one.” By McGonagall’s knickers! Either she had had a severe potions accident and was hallucinating, or Blaise Zabini was flirting with her!

 

Hermione knew enough about the wizard to realise that nothing serious would come out of it, nor did she want that, but every woman wanted to be wooed from time to time, right? And Zabini wasn’t the worst choice by far. That was why, when he extended his hand towards her, she gulped down her drink and let him guide her to the dance floor. But what was that noise? Did Draco just growl at something? No, impossible. Or had she stepped on his toes? 

 

Blaise pulled her into his arms with ease, settling his large hands on her waist and easing her into the rhythm of the music. Hermione was surprised to identify the song drumming out of the speakers as a muggle one. Her reaction must have been visible on her face, for Blaise pulled her even closer and spoke into her ear, “Surprised? Well, even the purebloods know a gem when they see it, no matter where it comes from.” He nudged the shell of her ear slightly with his nose, sending shivers down her spine at the intimacy of it. “I’m relating to the music, of course.” Hermione was unable to contain her laughter then and smacked the tall wizard with the palm of her hand against the biceps. 

 

“Stop it, Zabini. I won’t fall for your cheap advances.”

 

Blaise sighed dramatically and grinned, still dancing with her. “A man can dream, can’t he? And you’re too cute not to give it a try.” Those were probably the first true words she heard from him outside of class. He sent her into a spin and caught her in his arms again, and Hermione laughed at the simple joy of dancing with someone so adept as Blaise.

 

“If you ever decide otherwise and want to go out for a night, you know where to find me,” he offered.

 

“Yes, probably between a witch’s legs,” she deadpanned and made him laugh. They danced on, inhibited and for the joy of it, Blaise twirling and turning Hermione expertly, swaying her hips and grinding against her. Everything without any intentions, only going with the music, and the brunette really enjoyed herself, remembering again how much she enjoyed dancing. Though, to convince Harry and Ron to go dancing with her was as probable as Snape being reborn as a pink rubber duck in Hagrid’s tub. 

 

“I think it’s my turn now,” a serious voice announced, and it took Hermione some seconds to realise that it was Draco, tapping Blaise on the shoulder like they were at a formal ball. The effect was somewhat ridiculed by the whumping baseline and the fact that the blond had to shout to make himself heard over the music. Blaise leaned over to his friend and said something to him, but she couldn’t hear what it was. However, in a move that appeared all too practised, she was handed over to the blond wizard, and Blaise disappeared.

 

Again, the woman felt herself engulfed in two male arms and swaying to the music. The volume was lower now, but she didn’t know whether that had to do with some wandless magic or the fact that the song now playing was a more relaxed one. What she was very aware of was the way Draco’s proximity made her stomach do funny things - and she didn’t know if she found that a good or a bad thing.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself so far?” Draco asked, albeit with a frown she couldn’t interpret.

 

“Yes. This is a fun place to be, and Blaise is a wonderful dance partner.” The frown deepened, and Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly.

 

“You shouldn’t enjoy Blaise’s company too much. He’s not a good idea for a witch like you.” All fluttery and warm feelings were drowned when anger spread in her stomach at this statement. 

 

“A witch like  _ me _ ?” 

 

“You heard me, alright.” 

 

She stopped moving and tried to get out of his grip, but his hands firmly remained where they were. “What’s got your wand in a knot? It was you who told me to let myself go. And when I do, you tell me not to,” Hermione said, her voice rising. 

 

“I just don’t want you to let yourself go with  _ Blaise _ . The notches in his bed post could create a new art style,” he admitted darkly. Since when did Draco Malfoy care about his best friend’s sexcapades?

 

“What about Theo?” She nodded her head towards the third Slytherin bad boy, who danced with Pansy so intimately that he almost danced  _ in _ Pansy.

 

“He isn’t exactly the type of wizard you would enjoy in the long term, either. Can you imagine him spending time in the library with you, for example?” No, she had to give him that, at least not when there wasn’t a blow-job beneath a table as a reward waiting for Theo. 

 

Hermione left the question unanswered and started moving again instead until a thought occurred to her. “What about...you?” Bravely, she locked her eyes with his to see his reaction. 

 

“You know my reputation,” Draco answered evasively. 

 

“And you know mine. And still, we’re here.” She shrugged casually, or at least tried to do so, despite her heart hammering loudly in her ears and his eyes burning into hers. Thankfully, he interrupted their eye contact by turning her around in his arms, bringing her back to his front. 

 

Okay, so maybe that made things even worse, because now she could feel his hard torso against her body. Then, his hands were on her hips again, tilting them forward a fraction, so that her bum rested snugly against his crotch. Hermione swallowed a moan upon the contact, and instinctively leaned her head against his shoulder, exposing her throat. Apparently, her body was eager to send her a message. One she hoped to ignore for a little longer.

 

“Let’s put it like this: I respect you.” Draco’s breath was hot on her neck as he spoke. “Any other witch in an outfit like this I would’ve long pinned beneath me screaming my name.” 

 

“ _ Umph _ . I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”  _ Smart thing to say _ , Hermione chastised herself. And this time, she didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk. What annoyed her even more was that she felt a chuckle vibrating in his ribcage. The git knew exactly how he had just affected her. But before she could react on that, a second pair of arms came into view, curling around her neck and shoulders. Hands with nails with emerald nail polish. 

 

That was the second time this evening that Pansy Parkinson ignored her personal space. 

 

“I love this song!” the witch squealed, and Hermione was stunned how much the girlish behaviour changed her perception of the other woman. Pansy, usually more bitch than witch, danced unhibited, her eyes half-closed, taking Hermione and Draco with her. The latter seemed unfazed by suddenly having two witches instead of one in his reach, even when Pansy rose to her tiptoes and leaned over Hermione’s shoulder to place a kiss on the blond’s lips.

 

The Gryffindor’s pulse accelerated, a flush creeping over her entire body at the sensuality of being trapped between two attractive humans while they kissed, unwillingly triggering questions of how many of the rumors about Draco and Pansy’s history were true. Those ponderings were scattered when the raven-haired witch turned her head - and pressed the next kiss on Hermione’s lips. 

 

Of course, Hermione had asked herself what it felt like to kiss a girl. Now she had her answer: soft and warm. It only lasted a second, but it was enough time to register how Draco’s hands on her hips tightened. She stored both information away, along with the assessment that this was probably Pansy’s way to communicate, for the female Slytherin now threw her arms in the air and danced wildly - albeit perfectly moving along with the rhythm. 

 

That alone was infectious, and soon, Draco and Hermione had stepped away from each other and joined Pansy. For what felt like hours, Hermione handed herself over to the beat, enjoying to dance along with the Slytherins, relishing in...not-thinking for a while. 

 

* * *

 

An hour later, feeling pleasantly elated and a bit over-heated, the group left the club, instantly heading off into a distinct direction.

 

“Where are we going now?” Hermione asked, certain that the night wasn’t over yet.

 

“My, she’s always curious, isn’t she?” Theo stated, though not unfriendly.

 

“Oh yes,” Draco confirmed. “But now we’re testing her of how much Gryffindor bravery is inside her-”

 

“-I’m right here!” Hermione pouted, trying not to burst of curiosity. As of that moment, she was ninety-eight percent certain that her school mates meant her no harm. The group had stopped, and Pansy slung an arm around her shoulders, tilting her chin up towards a magically lightened shop sign. 

 

“Yes, we haven’t forgotten. In fact, it was Draco’s idea to take you here after the club.” The witch’s amusement was evident. But Hermione ignored her, eyeing the studio in something between foreboding and excitement. 

 

“ _ The Inked Wand _ ,” she read aloud, then paused. “You want me to get a magical tattoo?” 

 

Blaise chuckled. “I knew there was a reason they call you the brightest witch of our generation.”

 

She angled her head towards Draco, who displayed a challenging smirk, keenly observing her reaction. Slowly, but steadily, the brunette’s lips curled into a smile. 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know - it's been way too long since I updated this story. But sadly, I'm lacking time to write at the moment. So be patient with me, the updates come when they're ready.
> 
> In the meantime, you grace me with all those lovely reviews and other support. They're so very much appreciated. THANK YOU!
> 
> Tons of hugs and kisses for MrBenzedrine89 for proofreading this for me.
> 
> I know many of you are curious about Hermione's tattoo, and I hope I did you justice with it.

Together, the group entered the studio and immediately were greeted by a man whose appearance screamed ‘cool artist’. Hermione didn’t know what exactly made artists so recognizable, but this guy wore soft-looking linen clothes, including a shirt that showed off the many tattoos curling around his arms. Also, he and had his wand tucked behind one ear in a fashion that resembled the way Luna carried hers. 

 

“Malfoy, mate!” He pulled on Draco’s extracted hand and engaged the wizard in a one-armed hug. Hermione’s fingers itched to grab her wand, expecting someone would be  _ Avada’d  _ the next second, because it was so unreal to see the Malfoy scion, ex-Death Eater, and suit-wearing pureblood hugging another man like that. However, Draco didn’t land himself in Azkaban by using a set of Unforgivables and simply said, “ ‘Evening, Mike. Thanks for having us here so late.” 

 

“Well, who am I to deny a customer?” Mike, probably the owner of the studio, replied. Hermione exhaled slowly. So, they were familiar, and after the bald man greeted Pansy with a kiss on the cheek, it dawned on her that at least those two had already visited this place. The assessment, in turn, piqued her curiosity.

 

“You look a bit flabbergasted,” Theo observed, and the others turned toward her. 

 

“Well, I simply didn’t expect to see Draco in this, -for him- rather unusual territory.”

 

Mike barked a laugh at that and clapped her on the shoulder. “Not the usual pureblood princess, is she?”

 

“Salazar, no!” Draco grinned, and Hermione felt herself oddly blushing at his words. Mike greeted Theo and Blaise with a handshake before he led them to a more private area that wasn’t visible through the front window. Pansy immediately plopped down in one of the cozy leather armchairs in the room and started sifting through some magazines, framed by Theo and Blaise.

 

“You first, mate?” Mike addressed Draco. “Still taking that constellation?” 

 

“Yes.” Unceremoniously, Draco unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to Hermione, while she started at the blond’s naked torso shamelessly. At least, it was unceremoniously for him - not so much for the onlooking witch. For her, it was seeing a Christmas present unwrapping itself. The first few buttons revealed the hard planes she had already felt beneath his clothes on occasion - and was instantly delighted because she had been wrong in one point. She had expected Draco to be the type of man who shaved his chest hair - perfectly groomed creature he was - but there was a quite appealing layer of dark blond hair to be seen. Not enough to crawl from under his collar and be visible for the world (she had this discussion with Harry once), but a perfect amount of it to shout masculinity.  

 

“See something you like, Granger?” Theo asked, amused. 

 

“Yeah. Fascinated with, really.” She snapped out of her reverie, realising how her words had sounded and looked into Theo’s and Blaise’s saucy grins. 

 

“I meant Draco’s tattoos, idiots. Merlin, you’re worse than Ron!” Indeed, she was fascinated by the full set of Quidditch spheres on Draco’s skin, the highlight being a beautiful Snitch on his left pectoral. She had fully expected to see a giant dragon curled around his shoulders like she had seen on Charlie’s body (a very fond memory which involved a very hot summer night in a dragon sanctuary and a midnight bath). The witch stepped closer, her fingers hovering over Draco’s chest where the Snitch sat, not daring to look into his face. She tilted her head, inspecting the artwork. From close up, she could see the golden ball had something engraved on its surface - ‘Malfoy 7’, the Seeker position. Maybe she had underestimated how much Quidditch meant to him. Playing certainly did wonderful things to his physique, framing his body with wiry muscles and hard planes, making it hard to solely focus on the tattoos. She lifted her head, staring into those dangerous, silver eyes. 

 

“May I?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. He nodded, faintly smirking, probably aware of how she had checked him out. Her fingertips touched the wings of the snitch, surprised how warm his skin was, and the small thing flapped its wings. Hermione felt the childish joy of having discovered something new in the world of magic. She giggled, her palm splayed against Draco’s chest (ignoring the impulse to trail it over the dark blond hairs  _ below _ his navel - yes, _ of course _ she had seen them). “I want one.”

 

“We’re not going to talk you into something you don’t want.” Draco’s voice was unusually soft then, maybe reminiscent of the way they both had received the first imprints on their bodies; his an omen of death, a skull, penetrated by a snake, and hers a permanent reminder of the place in the magical world Bellatrix Lestrange had seen her. “But if you really want one, this is the best place to go. Observe Pansy and me, and we’ll see how you like it, yes?” 

 

Pansy? Oh right, there were others in the room. She had forgotten that momentarily.

 

“Cool. Then let’s get started,” Mike stated, and with Draco sitting down on a chair that reminded her of one her parents used to have in their practise, Hermione could concentrate again. 

 

When he started pulling out an old-fashioned pencil and paper, Hermione asked, “So, how is this going to work? I mean, I know about the workings of a muggle tattooist, but there have to be some differences, right?” 

 

Mike looks at her companions as if asking, “Really?” and the others nodded in unison. He explained that while many magical tattooists still use the old-fashioned bewitched needle, Mike belonged to a newer school of artists who worked with a charm and their wand. He did the sketches per hand, but when it came to transferring the image to the client’s skin and actually attaching it permanently to it, he used his wand. It still stung, of course, but he was faster with the help of the charm, and the place healed quicker, while the infection risk was lower. Then, if the client wished so, he applied the charm for movement. The extent of the movement could vary: Draco, for example, had a stationary Snitch that could move its wings and flutter a bit, but the others could move all the time if he commanded them to. Naturally, the moving ones were much more expensive than the others. Hermione suspected that Draco’s Snitch was largely fixated for the dramatic effect - not for the lack of money. 

 

Truly fascinated, the brunette watched as Draco’s constellation was applied to his left shoulder blade, itching to run her fingers over the smooth skin there. The blond sat very still while Mike worked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the chair’s back, only flinching once when the artist’s wand hovered over a spot particularly close to his spine, setting the muscles and sinews in his upper body and arms into motion. It was only fifteen minutes before the artwork could be admired, but Hermione felt flushed by the time Draco finally slipped into his shirt again. 

 

After a short pause and a glass of water, Mike addressed Pansy. “Darling, what can I do for you today?” 

 

“I want a flower.” The witch spread her legs, unashamed, and pointed at a spot right above her mons venus. “Here.” The tattooist merely raised an eyebrow. Hermione presumed it wasn’t the first time a woman wanted an inking there. 

 

“Do you want it to move?” 

 

“Naturally. I mean, it has to grow back every time I’m ‘de-flowered’ and someone ‘plucked my pansy’, right?” she explained and held the displayed sketchbook for the others to see, her finger on a drawing of a viola. Hermione giggled heartily when she saw what Pansy wanted to get.

 

“Uhm… Pansy, are you sure you want that one?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Sparing the other women the in-depth explanation of genus and different species, Hermione stated, “I’m just saying that this one is a viola, but not a pansy. You know, while all pansies are violas, not all violas are pansies.” 

 

Pansy seemed to ponder her words, before Draco commented dryly, “That means your little joke wouldn’t work. You don’t even get the flower you were named after.” Hermione could tell this was friendly teasing, as the Slytherin witch didn’t glare at the blond but instead featured a wicked smirk. 

 

“I’ve never been good at Herbology. Might need a little help with that and come back another time to have it done.” She turned towards Hermione then, still smirking. “Longbottom - he’s quite good at that botanical stuff, right? He’s also grown quite delicious. Maybe I can talk him into it...” she trailed off, probably already plotting how to approach Neville and convince him into her  _ pans _ y-business. 

 

And while Pansy got a good ribbing by the three boys, Hermione took the chance and explained Mike what she wanted to have. The bright artist sketched it, asking for a spelling or her opinion in between, but after only a few minutes, he was done.

 

“Perfect.” Hermione smiled at him, honestly in awe at the talent. She hadn’t been aware of Draco stepping behind her and watching over her shoulder at the design.

 

“ _ ‘Homines sunt, non dei’, _ ” he read, thoughtfully. “That’s from Petronius’  _ Satyricon _ , I believe?” The witch nodded, astonished again at the intelligence and knowledge behind his often so arrogant front. “Shooting from a wand and surrounded by sparks.” He still kept his gaze on the paper in her hands. “A very thoughtful decision, Granger.” And to her, it sounded like an honest compliment. His grey eyes certainly conveyed a certain amount of admiration that threatened to fray her nerves. 

 

“The Blacks had an extensive collection of historical texts in Grimmauld Place. I used to hide their while my friends were thoroughly enjoying their respective partners  _ company _ ,” she confessed, a voice in her head asking her why it was so easy to tell him what had taken quite some time to realize herself. 

 

“Call me snobbish, but the books were the better decision.” Draco winked, and then the tense moment was over.

 

As she had decided the place for the tattoo would be on her side between the curve of her hip and the midst of her ribs, she had to remove her bra so Mike could move freely over her skin. A sticking charm assured her shirt would be kept in place and not reveal more of her than necessary. Nonetheless, she caught Draco staring at her when she peeled her black bra off from under her top, his eyes darkening. Then, she handed him the item, and that shook him out of his thoughts. Hermione didn’t comment on that, but she found the very slight blush creeping over his pale skin adorable. Making Draco Malfoy blush by only displaying this small amount of her female body and clothes was something she wanted to save in a pensieve.

 

“Ready? We can still stop, no problem,” Mike said to her, wand already in hand.

Suddenly, Hermione got hit by a bout of nervousness - not exactly fear, but still. It must have been apparent on her face, because Draco drawled from next to her, “Need a hand, milady?” in a playfully chivalrous way and extended his hand for her to hold. Without hesitation, she grabbed it. It was warm and slightly calloused - and surprisingly calming. 

 

However, she couldn’t stop a slight flinch when she felt the first invisible needle transferring ink deep into the layers of her skin. But Draco remained a gentleman and rubbed his thumb over her head without commenting on it. She relished in it, until - 

 

“Bloody hell, Granger!”

 

\-- She squeezed his hand really,  _ really _ hard when Mike reached a particularly sensitive spot between her upper ribs. 

 

“Shall I call you the iron lady with a grip like that?”

 

Her face heated up in embarrassment, and she wanted to apologize for her violence, but Blaise spluttered, “Imagine this grip elsewhere!” 

 

Her embarrassment forgotten, she shot the man a scathing look that would have Hungarian Horntails crying for their mummy and replied, “Yes, imagine me jerking it off,” before she had realized the double meaning behind it. One, two second seconds of stunned silence, and then everyone around her broke out in roaring laughter - even Mike, who had the presence of mind to interrupt his work. “Oh, not like that, you perverts!”

 

A little while later, Hermione lowered her top again after admiring the piece of art now on her skin. Not only was it gorgeous, but it also made her feel a bit daring, a little less of the good girl so many people liked to see in her. 

 

“What about you two?” she inquired Blaise and Theo. The latter vehemently rejected and mumbled something about an ink allergy, and Blaise explained how his mother would probably disown him. “Well, from my Gryffindor point of view it sounds like you’re too much if a pansy ass to get one,” she commented in return.

 

Blaise deadpanned, with a wink, “Salazar, such dirty words! Only for clarification - I have been up Pansy’s arse and it’s perfectly cozy in there. That doesn’t lead me to getting a tattoo, however.”

 

Hermione laughed and wanted to continue the pleasant back-and-forth with the Slytherins, but then Draco announced that he had activated the portkey (an old umbrella Mike had stored for him). 

 

* * *

 

When their feet touched ground in the Head dorms again, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo said their goodbyes: Pansy with a kiss on the cheek, Blaise with one on her knuckles. Theo copied his friend’s action, cheekily adding, “ _ Hermione, _ you’re welcome to spend the night with us any time in the future.”

 

“Thank you,  _ Theodore _ , what a generous offer.”

 

“Oh, we Slytherins can be  _ very generous _ with our affections if we choose so.”

 

“Yes, and the Patil twins can attest that, too,” Draco stepped in and practically shoved his friends through the door, leaving the two of them alone in their quarters again.

 

“That was a wonderful evening, Draco. Thank you for taking me with you.” And she meant those words. She couldn’t remember being so relaxed and free for ages, inhibited in the best sense of the word. The blond, in an unusual display of sheepishness, put his hands in the pocket of his trousers and shrugged, stepping closer to her. Though she was so very tempted to point out the cuteness of that, she overplayed it by saying, as bossy as she was able to, “And you’re welcome to tell me how much I owe you.” Draco’s head snapped in her direction, surprised. “Sometimes, you’re not the sneaky snake you think you are. I saw you slipping the Galleons for my tattoo into Mike’s hand.” 

 

He lifted his shoulder as if to shrug again, but then his disturbingly irresistible smile reappeared. Just when she pondered what he thought about to trigger it, he leaned down and gently pressed three kisses on her face. 

 

The first one on her cheek shocked her, but made goosebumps erupt everywhere on that side of her body, rendering her motionless.

 

The second on her nose that made her smile and warm inside.

 

And the last one, the shortest one, was pressed on her lips after a brief hesitation on Draco’s side. She closed her eyes, expecting and wanting him to come back for more. But when he didn’t, she opened them to see him grinning at her. 

 

“Consider me paid.” 

 

With a feeling that was equally humour and indignation, she watched him strolling to his bedroom, hands still in his pockets, and decided, for once, not to over-analyse what had just happened.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Showering MrBenzedrine89 with beta-love - she's one of the best people I know.

The next morning found Hermione sleeping in for a bit. She didn’t usually do that, but the feelings towards a certain man refused to exit her brain on the habitual way - her wand - and kept her awake. Because even if the kisses were very, very tame and more sweet than sexy, they left her staring at her ceiling in the dark. She simply couldn’t put a finger on her feelings towards Draco. 

 

Oh, there was plenty of anger at times. And a nice thirst to prove herself. But, overall, it felt like throwing those, combined with a great dose of attraction and a huge cup of honest appreciation, into a mixer.  

 

As a result, she walked into the kitchen sleepily and immediately spotted a steaming cup of coffee waiting for her. Thanking the Founders for Draco’s foresight, she outstretched her hand towards the beverage-

 

“Hey!”

 

\- When a hand tugged on her sleepshirt. Of course, it was the blond wizard named after a magical reptile, with whom she had overseen stepping closer to her from the side because her hair hindered her view. 

 

“Are you looking for something in particular, or is this just a poor attempt to feel me up?” she inquired, trying to overplay the sensations his fingers caused by trailing over her skin. Her hormones were jumping awake then, alerting her brain of this fact by sending shivers up her body.

 

Draco was mere inches away and eyed her with studious interest. Like he looked at a potions book, albeit an interesting and challenging one. He chuckled while his hand spanned around her waist. “You would know if I felt you up, and it wouldn’t be an attempt, for sure. I simply wanted to see how your tattoo is doing.”

 

“And?”

 

“It’s doing wonderfully. Or is there any sensitivity?”

 

_ ‘The sensitivity is surely not on my skin, but inside  my knickers, you idiot!’  _ she  _ wanted _ to reply. But she didn’t because he did that...that eye-thing again where he looked at her. How did she land at a point where looking at a man reduced her to a brainless tart?

 

Underwear...Hermione’s memory wanted to remind her of something, but it was all fogged up, the point of breaking out in girlish swooning nearly arriving when his thumb just so came in contact with the underside of her breast. She gulped. “No, all is fine.”

 

Draco blinked, as if suddenly remembering what he was doing. His hand snapped back, though not like he was disgusted - but rather embarrassed. “Yes, yes, very fine. You have very...nice skin, I suppose.” Draco turned around and practically fled to the bathroom. “I’m going to have a shower!” 

For the second time in not even 12 hours, Hermione was left standing alone like an Erumpet when it thunders, honestly not knowing what to make of Draco’s attack-and-retreat behaviour. Still, like the man himself, this intrigued her.

 

* * *

 

“Ronald, stop that! You’re getting on my nerves!” Hermione blinked angrily at Ron, who had discovered that the sun reflects on watches thirty minutes ago and blinded her continuously.

 

“You should really stop, dear brother of mine, if you don’t want your precious parts hexed off,” Ginny contributed, not even looking up from where her head rested comfortably on Harry’s lap. The witch had either forgotten their encounter from the previous evening or waited for a good opportunity to bring it up again - Hermione voted for the latter. At least, Ron stopped his antics. 

The group of five enjoyed the warm weather on that Sunday afternoon and relaxed outside. And, for Hermione, relaxing meant taking her Arithmancy project outside. She just had made a breakthrough with a particularly challenging equation when she heard Lavender wolf-whistle. “Merlin, is it the climate change, or has the temperature suddenly risen because of him?”

 

“Oi!” Ron interjected, but Hermione followed Lavender’s gaze. 

 

Yes, of course. It just had to be him. And, naturally, Lavender was absolutely correct in her observations. Draco swaggered his way down to them, his robes discarded somewhere and the sleeves of his white shirt uncuffed, showing off his muscular forearms without uncovering the Dark Mark. He had been assigned to tutor some fifth years, and his Head Boy badge was still pinned to his belt. The sun reflected on his blond hair, which was slightly disheveled. Hermione knew it was from running his fingers in frustration through them because, ‘These insolent girls didn’t listen, and only undressed him with their eyes’.

 

Well, she could understand them all too well. And Lavender, too, it seemed.

 

“Don’t get your Chudley Cannons boxers in a twist, Ron. I like men. And I happen to like you the most, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see what’s in front of my nose. You’ll always be the one tending to my needs, though, Won-Won”

 

“Ewww,” Hermione commented in ways to ignore Draco who had now stopped at the edge of their blanket. 

 

“And here we have a pack of lions procrastinating in the sun after a meal.”

 

“If we were indeed lions, we’d have a snake as dessert,” Harry retailed, though it wasn’t very convincing with him having his eyes closed and face to the sun.  

 

“Didn’t know you’d be so kinky to ask my snake for dessert, Potter.” Draco smirked. Before someone could produce a comeback, Hermione stepped in, “Why did you come here, Draco?”

 

“I have to deliver a thing of utmost importance back to its owner,” the blond directed at her, and suspicion arose in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t want to keep you hanging after you handed it me so purposefully last night, right?”

 

A triumphant neuron in the brunette’s brain chose this moment to produce the information it should have pushed forward in the morning when she talked to Draco - because now was obviously a bit late. His trademark smirk appeared when he pulled something from his back pockets and provocatively dangled it in front of her face. Her bra. Or, to be exact, the bra she had given him the previous night to keep as long as she got her tattoo. She more heard than saw her friend’s jaws dropping open.

 

Draco asked, casually, “This is yours, isn’t it?”

 

“Obviously,” she hissed from between gritted teeth.

 

“Say thank you then, in the lovely way you did last night.” Bastard, he made it look like they’d spent the night together. Which they had. But not in the biblical sense. She yanked her forgotten underwear from his grip, and hoped her glare would turn him into something ugly.

 

“Go screw yourself, Malfoy!” Hermione seethed, but didn’t miss the flicker of hurt upon his face.

 

“Where’s the fun in that now that I gave my inspiration back?” With that, he winked at her one last time and walked up to the castle. 

 

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to twenty as slowly as she could manage. When she opened them, she looked into three shocked faces and one mildly amused one. The latter belonging to Ron, to her surprise. 

 

“What-?”

 

“Did you-?”

 

“Did he-?” the voices of Ginny, Lavender, and Harry overlaid in different shades of distress. 

 

Hermione groaned. “Stop the pointless stammering and listen to me. It isn’t what it looks like.”

 

Harry morphed into an annoying blend between best friend and obvious mum, emphasizing, “But he had  _ your bra _ and said  _ you handed _ it to him.”

 

“That I did, but the circumstances were different from what you may believe. For one, the two of us weren’t alone: Theo, Blaise, and Pansy were also with us.” 

 

Lavender gasped, and this scandalized noise made Hermione snap.

 

“For fuck’s sake! We were out! Dancing and other stuff. And it was  _ fun _ .”

 

“So you lied to me yesterday! I knew it,” Ginny accused, and her voice held bitterness.

 

“Technically, I didn’t lie. I told you I had things to do and didn’t specify which things. I might have told you eventually, had you  _ listened _ to me in earnest.”

 

Ginny’s expression turned cold. “That’s such a Slytherin move. I don’t recognize you anymore.” Hermione felt like she had been slapped. What could have been an embarrassing discussion had turned into something that might cause an irreparable drift. Or rather, make something finally breaking that had already suffered some deep cracks.

 

She knew that it wasn’t only her friend’s fault. Or that there wasn’t really anyone to blame except their screwed childhood for this. But there was no turning back now. No place for rationality this time. 

 

She held the witch’s gaze with purpose. “You don’t recognize me anymore? Welcome to the club, then.” 

 

That said, she scrambled to her feet, brushed some leaves from her jeans, and followed the path up to the castle without turning back.

 

“Calm down, girls…and Harry. So Hermione was out with some boys, Slytherin at that, what’s the matter?” The brunette smiled softly when she heard Ron’s words behind her. Maybe things didn’t look as bleak as she thought when  _ Ron  _ was the voice of reason. Yet, she schooled her face into one of grim foreboding.

 

There was a ferret to put down, after all. 

 

* * *

 

_ “You!” _ Hermione hissed, storming into the Heads’ common room and slamming the door closed behind her. It was childish, but Draco’s flare for the dramatic must have infused into her. 

 

_ He _ sat on the couch, one leg flung over the other, with a book in his hands.

 

“Apparently, they released the kraken,” he commented drily upon her obvious anger.

 

She walked closer to the couch, stopping when her knees hit the edge of it. The blond wizard quirked one of his eyebrows and closed the book - not without bookmarking it. 

 

“You humiliated me!” 

“Did I, now? How could I have possibly achieved that?” Slowly, Draco rose from his relaxed posture. Then, he stood in the narrow space between the sofa and Hermione. His scent washed over her, and his proximity endangered her determination. 

 

“You embarrassed me by showing off my underwear and by implying we spent the night together!”

 

The blond’s eyes displayed barely any emotion except a faint trace of hurt when he answered, pronouncing every word as if she was slow on the uptake, “Really? Because they could come to the conclusion that their picture perfect bookworm could have had  _ sex _ ? Or rather because it implied you had sex  _ with me _ ?” He paused, side-stepping her. When he passed, he lowered his head to growl directly next to her ear, “Which one is more embarrassing for you?” 

 

She had no answer to that and flinched violently when it was his bedroom door slammed shut. He didn’t really think he’d escape her then, did he? Hermione was the type of woman that needed to resolve confrontations or misconceptions immediately - otherwise she’d implode!

 

So, after breathing in and out with force and noticing that this didn’t change anything, she went after him. Apparently, he had the Harry-type of anger management - flying - because he had already thrown on one of the washed out Quidditch team shirts he usually wore on the pitch, and currently unlooped his belt.

 

He looked up to her when she entered, not surprised in the least. “Careful, Granger. When someone comes in now, they might think we’re spending time together, or we’re making out, or worse-”

 

“Stop it!” Hermione yelled, the air between them sizzling with wild magic. “Fuck, I don’t know the answer to your question, but I know you’re partially at fault! All this mess in my head...” Then, she admitted, the truth sinking in while speaking it out loud, “I don’t know who I am anymore. I just know I’m not the same girl I was before…”  To add to her emotional discomfort, she felt tears springing up, unbidden.

 

Draco’s shoulders lost a big part of their tension.“Of course you aren’t.” 

 

_ ‘He understands,’ _ it reeled in the witch’s brain. He was the only one who got her. The anger evaporated and left behind despair and loneliness. “But before - I thought I could shoulder it. Simply continuing to be the odd one in the group.” 

 

“But that isn’t you,” Draco spoke, and she caught up to the fact that they both had moved so that they were standing close together now. 

 

She exhaled, feeling like a burden had been taken from her shoulders. “Yeah, I know. And then _ you _ , you absolute  _ git _ , come along and make me do things.” Did he chuckle? This wasn’t meant to be funny! The anger came crawling back, albeit now more on the mischievous side with a breathless note because they were standing close enough to touch now. She continued, “Like acting outside of my comfort zone. Enjoying myself. Making me feel things…” 

 

“Which things, Hermione?” he asked, his breath intermingling with hers. 

 

“A lot of different things.” She wetted her lips then, purposefully, and was rewarded with his darkened grey focus zooming in on them. 

 

“Fantastic,” he whispered before he grabbed and kissed her hard, desperate, his tongue slipping into her mouth when she gasped. She had anticipated his reaction - Merlin, she had provoked it. But what she hadn’t anticipated was the onslaught of emotions Draco poured into his touch. 

 

One of his hands sneaked around her neck, tugging ever so lightly on her curls, while the other hand held her against him. Hermione wasn’t idle either, raking her fingers over his back, sneaking under his shirt and relishing in the feel of his warm skin beneath them. Fastly, their kissing became a fully blown snog - one that left them both panting for more. She could easily see why women were so after Draco; his touch was addictive and tugged at strings in her body she didn’t know existed, but manifested in an alarming state of arousal. Did he always make these small noises, somewhere between a moan and a sigh?   

 

All too soon, they parted. “Tell me what you feel at the moment,” he murmured huskily, trailing kisses over her racing pulse. 

 

Hermione thought about her reply for a moment.  _ He _ told her that she could get what she wanted. And now she realized it was  _ him _ she wanted, among other things that she currently stored away. “I’m not in the mood to remove my damp knickers to show you, Draco. I’m on the roster for patrols tonight. With Theo. Maybe I should talk about my feelings with him?” 

 

With a cheeky grin, she stepped out of his embrace; it was so nice to see he was affected as she was. She left the Head dorms with the satisfying feeling to have the tables turned for once.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaa, the next chapter. A bit on the shorter side, and Hermione talks a lot, but it's what she does. Apparently, Ron is very likable in this story, don't ask me why. But I know he was quite funny to write.
> 
> Beta love to my friend MrBenzedrine89. Without her, I wouldn't have the courage to do this every time.

 

The conversation with Theo was a short one. Not that she had really intended to share either her feelings or the humidity of her knickers with the Slytherin prefect; nevertheless, she used the chance to walk beside him through the nightly corridors to talk to him.

“You’re a Slytherin, Theo-” she started, but he interrupted her.

 

“And they call you the br-” 

 

“-Shush, I’m not finished!” Hermione chastised the grinning wizard. “Let’s state this as an observation: you Slytherins don’t do anything without purpose, right? Everything you do serves you directly or indirectly.” Theo nodded. Another potential fitting word would be ‘selfish’, or ‘egotistical’, but it wouldn’t do her any good to say that now. “So what’s Draco’s deal?” 

 

“What? Draco’s deal?” came the scandalized response. “I told him if he started an illegal potions business or magic mushrooms, I’d wanted to be involved.” Hermione rolled her eyes, perfectly aware how Theo was making fun of her. But since he made fun of himself in the process, it was okay.  

 

“I mean this ‘project’,” - she indicated quotation marks with her fingers here -  “he apparently has with me. Taking me out and all.” 

 

The handsome Slytherin stopped dead in his tracks, sending her a disbelieving glare. “Alright, you really don’t know?” 

 

“I have a few theories, but I need some more factual input.” Yay, that sounded better than, ‘maybe he’s hitting on me, but maybe not. And I don’t want to make an idiot out of myself’.

 

Theo, grinning confidently, said, “For two people so intelligent, you two can really be exceptionally dumb.” 

 

Okay, so it seemed Slytherin tactics were in order. “ _ Theodore _ , give me something to work with, and I  _ might _ oversee that you entered a broom closet with Tracey Davis yesterday, and the broom looked very...manhandled afterwards. Filch might be interested in knowing why…” 

 

Theo blushed and muttered, “See? Draco’s turned you already.” Then, he continued, a bit louder, “I’m giving you two questions to think about, okay? First being: how many girls have you seen leaving Draco’s bedroom? Or rather, you can actually say he has shagged in the past few weeks? Second question: How many women do you think has he taken out with his friends before you came along? I give you a hint: the numbers are the same.”

 

Despite not actually knowing the answers, Hermione blushed hard under Theo’s innuendos.

 

* * *

 

Ron had always enjoyed the silence in the common room late in the evenings, but only few people knew that. Being catapulted from a family of nine into sharing quarters 24/7 with four other boys made even the most lively persons crave their isles of privacy. 

 

That played into Hermione’s hands now, as she wanted to talk to him. After entering the otherwise empty room, she slipped out of her shoes and plopped down on the sofa next to Ron. In an internalized move, she stretched her legs over his lap. Ron, without looking, grabbed one of her feet and started kneading them. Merlin, but he could give a good foot rub. Hermione almost moaned at the sensation when, suddenly, she realized how their situation could appear for an onlooker and tried to pull her foot away. 

 

“What? Are you suddenly ticklish?” Ron asked, taken aback. 

 

“No, I just...what would Lavender think if she saw us like that? Or anyone else?” she explained.

 

“Hermione, we’re friends. We both know how much of a mistake our attempt at dating was, right?” Hermione nodded vehemently. He was right, of course, but never before they had talked so openly about it. Then again, she hadn’t spoken to Ron alone in ages. Maybe that had been a mistake.

 

The witch sighed. “Some things would have been a lot easier if we had worked out…” 

 

“Yeah. Mum would have been delighted, for sure. We could have had a double wedding with Ginny and Harry… built a little house...have two children with your smarts and my good looks: Rose and Hugo.” 

 

She slapped him playfully, fully aware he was only making fun. “What kind of names are that? They’re horrible!” she mocked him. They smiled at each other, perfectly at ease for the first time in months.

 

“I’ve missed this,” she admitted.

 

“Me, too.” Ron paused, as if weighing his next words  “Ginny was right, you know? You’ve distanced yourself from us.” 

 

“Ron-” 

 

“No, Hermione, listen to me. This night in the forest, when I left you...It took me a while, but I finally realized that, as close as we are, and how much we depend on each other, we’re individuals. Harry had to face Voldemort alone. I had to man up and ask Lavender out again, not to mention how I had to realize my own worth. And you...maybe we’ve held you back, at least partially, all those years. You’ve always held a certain...deviousness, I think? A tendency to achieve your goals no matter what? But at the same time, you’re awfully vulnerable. Though, you’re too proud to admit it.” 

 

Hermione sat there with her mouth open for some moments, seriously flabbergasted. “When did you become so mature, Ronnikins? And all those big words!” 

 

Her friend broke out into a boyish grin. “Well, Lav makes me read all those lifestyle magazines.  _ Witch Weekly _ can be very deep and meaningful.” 

 

They laughed. They talked some more. And Hermione was beginning to understand that maybe she and her friends progressing in different directions didn’t necessarily mean an end to their friendship. Not with Ron, at least. That didn’t mean she forgot the ugly words and preempted assumptions flung at her. 

 

“So, you’ve indeed been out with the snakes?” her old friend asked, finally.

 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Yes, you old gossip, I have.” 

 

“And? Did you come home with your virtue intact?” 

 

She threw a pillow in Ron’s face then. 

 

“Yes, they were all great to me. Even Pansy, who apparently makes no gender difference in whom she beds; she gave me a kiss and groped my tits.” Ron immediately got the faraway expression she’d seen on Draco in the club. “Hey!” Another pillow flew.

 

“What? I can’t help it! The visual of two women together is hot! I’m still having all my sexual explorations with Lav!” Hermione made an  _ ewwww- _ face, but it got worse as Ron continued, “Which brings me to the question...has Malfoy…” - he wriggled his eyebrows -  “Slyther-ed in?” 

 

“Ronald Bilius Weasley! I can’t believe how nosey you are!” 

 

The Weasley in question chuckled. “Come one, one has to be totally ignorant as not to feel the sexual tension between you two, even before he carried you underwear around.” He looked at Hermione who sat there, thunderstruck. “Or one has to be someone with a library full of romance and other books between their ears to not see the potential real romance in front of their eyes. Or, maybe, a ‘lady novel’ as Mum used to call her trashy erotica?”

 

That was the second time this evening Hermione blushed. But it also got her thinking. 

 

There was attraction between her and Draco, as well as an undeniable chemistry that extended beyond that: both of them were intelligent, snarky, and fierce. He challenged her constantly, and that was exactly what she needed. And, judging by their mind-blowing kiss they had shared, at least the attractions seemed to be mutual. But Hermione wasn’t the kind of woman who simply submitted the Malfoy charm. 

 

And then, she came up with an idea.

 

* * *

 

It was almost midnight when Hermione came back to their quarters, and she was surprised to see her blond roommate was still awake. 

 

But indeed, Draco sulked in front of the fire. Though, maybe pouting was the better word. Swirling his firewhiskey in his hand, he stared into the flames. “Finished _ talking  _ to Theo, finally?” he sneered without even raising his head in her direction. 

 

“Yeah, he was very...helpful to ease some of my...pressures, though he was clearly lacking in others,” she countered coyly.

 

Draco choked. She patted his back to help him, though the surprising touch made him choke some more. Deeming his reaction a tad on the dramatic side, she took pity on him and summoned a glas of water. 

 

When he had caught himself, she sat down on the armrest next to him and asked casually, “Is there Slytherin Quidditch training next Saturday?” 

 

“No, ours is Friday. What’s that question for?” Finally, his gaze connected with hers, and one of his brows furrowed.

 

“Any of your friends have a lactose-intolerance or any form of food allergy?” she ignored him. 

 

Draco cocked his head, eyeing her suspiciously. “No, I don’t think so. Why are you asking, Gryffindor Princess?” He had switched into teasing by now, and that didn’t make things easier for her. “Trying to poison your favourite Slytherins?” 

 

“That would be classless no, wouldn’t it?” She got up and placed her hands on his shoulders, as if to steady herself. Then, she reached out to straighten Draco’s collar and found her gaze falling directly into those grey knicker-traps he called eyes. Ignoring the way her insides fluttered when she noticed him shiver upon her accidental touch of his neck, she schooled her face into one of mischievousness. 

 

“I’m actually asking as a precaution. Because you and your little sexy gang are about to have a very muggle evening.” 

 

He blinked owlishly, as if considering something, but only for a second, and then, “Alright. I had my show, now you have yours. I’m all in.” 

 

She would never admit it to him, but that was probably the pivotal moment where her heart tripped and she fell.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Sorry for the long wait, but today I can give you the newest chapter of this little story. And you all absolutely blow my mind with all the love you're giving it, thank you so much for that!
> 
> Beta love to the awesome MrBenzedrine89!

 

The week had been a busy one, therefore neither Hermione nor Draco had been given the opportunity to dwell on their budding...relationship? Magical people with potentially upcoming benefits...thing? Feud? Nevertheless, the witch took some time in class to think about the details of the mugglefied evening with the tamed snakes. And yes, Hermione had the mental capacity to zoom out from lectures because she was the Brightest Witch Of Her Age  _ and  _ had surpassed the curriculum of an ordinary Hogwarts student somewhere between brewing Polyjuice in second year and time turning in third.

 

When Saturday came around, Hermione knocked on Draco’s bedroom door about an hour before the other Slytherins were supposed to arrive. “Draco? Are you ready? I have to leave for a bit.” 

 

Rustling could be heard behind the door; then he opened it with the words, “Did the perfect Hermione Granger forget to purchase something? You must be very excited, indeed.” 

 

Any witty reply got blocked by the most primal parts of her brain, rudely nudging them to the side. Draco stood in front of her, barefoot, wearing honest-to-God  _ jeans _ and a pale blue polo shirt that made his eyes stand out even more, and she wasn’t even starting on how it accentuated his seeker built. 

 

She wanted to hit him. 

 

And she  _ wanted _ him.

 

He must have caught her staring because he questioned, with one brow furrowed, “What? Isn’t this a fitting attire? I asked Tracey Davis what to wear, and she ordered this for me.” Draco Malfoy’s worst case scenario: not to be dressed properly. 

 

Hermione took a deep breath and said, “Tracey will be getting a very big box of chocolate from me this year’s Christmas.” 

 

Draco’s lips curled into a smile. “Alright, I take this as an appreciation of her choices and my body, but why do you have to leave? I thought we were having a night out in muggle world?” 

 

_ ‘Simple question, simple answer. You can do that, Hermione. Just don’t stare at his arms or think about how his backside…’ _ She blushed but said, “It’s difficult to explain, but I have to venture outside to get our food for tonight - you’ll see. And we won’t go out per se; instead, I’m bringing the muggle world to us.” 

 

From one second to the other, there was a mask falling into place in Draco’s face, and she felt instantly remembered of the petty boy he had been. “Are you afraid we’re going to scream insults at every bypassing muggle?” 

 

Hermione wasn’t an overall affectionate person, only with people she genuinely liked. Therefore, her hug was too fast and unexpected for Draco to anticipate. With her arms around him, she felt him relax after the first seconds of shock. “You idiot! Of course not. I merely thought it would be easier for you all to have a slow, measured dose of the unknown instead of jumping into it. You Slytherins are so easy to set off!” 

 

“Says the bloody Gryffindor,” he grumbled. Before she’d forget her name, Hermione stepped away from Draco, who continued, “Nevertheless, your effort is very much appreciated.” 

 

“You could simply say, ‘Thank you, Hermione’!” she teased. 

 

The Smirk DM appeared, and Hermione knew he roamed somewhere between friendly bickering and downright flirting. “I’m a Malfoy. We say ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ by showering a lady with jewelry.” 

 

“I’m waiting for my lorryload then,” she replied dryly, delighted he merely grinned back.

 

* * *

 

Exactly one hour later, the Head Girl entered the common room again, opening the door to incessant chatter. Apparently, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy had arrived and now eyed Draco’s outfit. Blaise scrutinized the jeans with disbelief, raising his hand to touch the delectable bum, while Hermione made herself known with a clearing of her throat. “I really love to see you exploring Draco with your hands, but you might like to have something to eat now.” She nodded her head to the steaming boxes in her hands. 

 

“Why are you so windswept, Princess?” asked Blaise, prying a leaf from her curls. She didn’t miss Draco’s glare at his friend from the other side of the room. Secretly, she enjoyed it.

 

Smiling, she explained, “Well, I couldn’t very well order this to Hogwarts, so I Apparated to the forest south of Edinburgh, telling the delivery boy I were camping with a YMCA-group.” Judging by the discombobulated expressions, she could very well have spoken Elvish. Amused, she chose a different wording. “I brought good food from outside of Hogwarts.” 

 

“What kind of food?” Pansy asked curiously.

 

“Pizza. The greatest invention since the wheel,” Hermione replied and, without much further ado, placed the boxes on the counter of the kitchen. With some fast swishes of her wand, she cut the pizza and placed slices on five dishes. 

 

The Slytherins’ reaction was so comical that it made Hermione giggle loudly. They approached the dishes like Crookshanks with a new brand of cat food: suspicious, distrusting, yet intrigued by the unfamiliar smell. She swore she could see Theo wriggling his nose.

 

“Come on, try it! It’s delicious!” As if to prove the harmlessness, she bit into her slice. 

 

Draco, observing that Hermione used her hands to eat, commented,  “Are all muggle foods in that barbaric fashion?” 

 

A light Stinging hex flew in the blond’s direction. “Actually, the first time I used a fork was on the first evening in Hogwarts,” she voiced, deadly-serious, but couldn’t keep up the facade for too long. The almost embarrassed expressions around her were too much. “No, you idiots, it’s simply what one eats on an evening with friends.” 

 

A moment of silence. A moment of understanding. Then, Pansy carefully bit into her cheesy delightfulness. Like the pureblood heiress she was, she chewed thoroughly, then swallowed, and declared, “That’s  _ really _ good, boys.”

 

“Maybe the reluctant dungeon boys need a little something to lower their inhibitions first?” Determined, Hermione produced some bottles from the fridge. Plopping them open and pouring the beverage into glasses, she handed each of the men and Pansy one with the words, “This is Guinness. It’s an Irish brand, but by far my favourite when it comes to beer. four point two volume percent alcohol, so not much.  _ Sláinte _ !”

 

She took a demonstrative sip for the others to see. They had spent too much time in the potions classroom together to drink an unknown liquid without being a bit suspicious. Mollified that she didn’t combust into flames, the wizards took large gulps.

 

“Salazar, that’s-” Blaise started, but was interrupted by his own, very prominent, very common, and very loud burp.

 

Hermione and Pansy giggled because the surprised face the man made was just too adorable. “Blaise! Is that how your mother raised you?” Pansy mocked him.

 

After another burp he covered elegantly with his hand, Blaise answered, “No, it isn’t. I’m afraid this heavenly beverage is entirely new to the Zabini family. My mother hasn’t married an Irishman,  _ yet _ .”

 

Blaise’s talking had made it possible for Theo and Draco to turn around and burp discreetly, though not unnoticed by the two witches. Hermione approached Draco and patted his back as one would do with a baby. He glared at her but didn’t protest at the long strokes she made over his back. “Barbaric, mh?” she commented smugly. “Just a friendly advice: take it slower so you can enjoy it more.”

 

Within a second, the blond’s eyes gleamed with something dark and delicious. He lowered his head and shared, “One day, you’re going to find out that I’m very much capable to do  _ very _ enjoyable things  _ very _ fast when I want to.” Hermione closed her eyes for a moment to keep hold on her self-control as Draco stepped away. 

 

“You coming, Princess? I’m afraid Theo will eat this all alone if we don’t stop him!” Blaise called for her. 

She smiled at the image the four snakes made: standing around their counter, the pizza boxes between them, they carefully held the slices in their hands. Backs straight, elbows close to the body, they presented like the perfectly raised purebloods they were, but the delighted expressions on their faces conveyed clearly how much they liked it. The exception was Theo, who happily munched his second slice already, making his behaviour hilariously close to Ron’s pizza-virginity wise.

 

* * *

 

Happily fed and slightly tipsy from the amount of alcohol and carbonic acid in the beer, they all gathered in front of the fireplace, which Hermione had deactivated for the evening - for a good reason. 

 

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is a VCR, connected to a TV. It’s used to show movies or different TV channels and runs on electricity. “

 

“I’m a bit disappointed that you don’t know that ‘Hogwarts: A History’ clearly states how the magic of the castle interferes with all electric contraptions,” Draco drawled. Oh, he just  _ had _ to go and ruin her knickers by quoting random facts. It was a good thing he didn’t wear glasses. She’d jumped him in front of all their guests then. 

 

Instead, she arrogantly threw her curls over her shoulder and moved her wand in an intricate pattern. “Ten points to Slytherin for the ability to read. But I have to disappoint you, that book needs an update.” A final flick and Hermione could switch on the VCR, its humming sound startling the others. “Actually, the solution was quite simple: all it took was a modified shield charm that isolates the wires from their environment, as well as a small generator cloaked in the same spell.  _ Et voilà _ !”

 

The Slytherins tried to hide their awe at the starting movie by raising their eyebrows in an emotion that could convey distrust, weren’t it for the curious glimmer in their eyes. Grinning triumphantly, Hermione skipped the opening credits and fetched some snacks from the kitchenette. With a huge bowl of popcorn and one of crisps levitating in front of her, she came back, placing them on the coffee table.

 

“This is popcorn, the sweet variation. Take care as not to hurt your teeth; it sometimes happens.” Of course, Draco was the first to grab a handful, much to Blaise’s amusement, and smiled contently at the sugary sensations. Theo, on the other hand, already tasted the crisps. “Those are essentially fried potatoes,” she explained and then handed Pansy a small bottle with a cool beverage.

 

The raven haired witch read the label and frowned. “Diet Coke? Is that the Gryffindor way to tell me I have to lose weight?” 

 

Hermione almost giggled at the insinuation, having had a similar conversation with Fleur before. “No, Pansy. I only thought you’d appreciate something with fewer calories since we’ve eaten that heavy pizza already.” She grabbed herself another diet coke and settled down on the enlarged sofa between Draco and Theo. 

 

“Oh, thank you then, I guess. Very thoughtful,” Pansy stammered and imitated Hermione’s way of opening the bottle. 

 

“This movie is called ‘Men in Black’. It’s a newer and very popular science-fiction movie what means that you will see technology and other elements only existing in the movie-makers’ fantasy. You’ll also find some comedic elements; it’s not a serious plot. Serious we’ve had enough for a lifetime in the past few years.” She had to admit, when she saw the others nodding solemnly, that it felt like explaining catalogue shopping to Molly Weasley. 

 

* * *

 

 

The brunette had hoped, or rather calculated, Draco would sneak an arm around her while Agent J and K saved the world from an alien attack. But no. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, eyes drawn to the screen. And, like Theo and Blaise, he was the chatty kind of person to watch a movie. She rolled her eyes inwardly, but thought it adorable at the same time. Just as she was pondering if he noticed her playing with the irresistible platinum locks that fell over the skin of his neck, she was interrupted in her musings.

 

“ _ Imagine a giant cockroach, with unlimited strength, a massive inferiority complex, and a real short temper, is terrorizing around Manhattan island in a brand new Edgar suit. That sound like fun?`”  _ Blaise repeated a line from seconds ago and commented darkly, “I don’t know about the Manhattan thing, but this sounds like Voldemort.” And with theses words, the Italian opened the comparative analysis of movie versus magic.

“‘You know what the difference is between you and me? I make this look  _ good _ ’,” Draco imitated Agent J to a tee, “I think this is going to be a nice line I’m going to drop at Potter in the next Quidditch match.”

 

“Well, you’re both look drop-dead sexy in your Quidditch gear,” Pansy admitted, accompanied by Hermione’s hefty nod. “But what about spells?”

 

“Mh, those guns seem to be a lot more harmful than our jinxes when you’re leaving  _ Avada _ out of it, but they’re lacking finesse. A tickling jinx isn’t exactly harmful, while a gun is every time you use it and hit someone,” Theo pondered, deep in thoughts. “Then again, this ‘flashy-thingy’ reminds me awfully of  _ Obliviate _ .” 

 

“Believe me, I know that one better than I’d like to,” Hermione whispered, but everyone had heard her. The heads turned towards her, and she knew she had to explain. With her eyes firmly on the screen, she explained how she had erased her parent’s memory, her voice almost breaking when telling how they decided to stay in Australia after their memories had been restored in a complicated procedure after the war. They enjoyed their new life there. And who was Hermione to beguile them of their happiness?   

 

Sighing, she forced herself not to dwell on those sad thoughts. “Anyway, it’s not an experience I’d like to repeat anytime soon, flashy-thingy or not,” she tried to humour the others, but her voice was slightly shaking. The relaxed atmosphere in the room had dampened considerably. 

 

Hermione stood, keen on keeping herself together, with the excuse of, “needing to provide some more snacks for the apparently very sweet toothed Slytherins.”

 

* * *

 

A few minutes later, Hermione had returned to a more composed mood, when Pansy stepped next to her behind the counter. Since the sofa and TV faced away from them, they had a bit of privacy there. 

 

Without further explanation, the Slytherin witch enveloped the Gryffindor in a fierce hug. “We all regret things we’ve done in the war. You’re not alone,” she murmured into Hermione’s curls. The brunette felt a strange sense of relief flooding through her as she patted Pansy’s back. This was one of the precious moments demonstrating Slytherins were humans just as the other houses were. They had feelings and regrets like everyone else. House unity wasn’t a fantasy, but it rooted in mutual understanding and tolerance and grew in spontaneous hugs. 

 

“Okay, I declare the Hufflepuff time over now,” Pansy said a bit later, her tone amused. “Let’s get back to some important business.” She opened another bottle of coke without accident and asked conspiratorially, “Aren’t you holding a grudge against Draco after he presented your bra to the school’s greatest gossip?” 

 

So Lavender  _ had _ graced the school with her telling of the incident. Not that Hermione was surprised. After all, every community thrived on gossip. “Mh, a bit,” she replied. Upon seeing Pansy’s surprised expression, she corrected, “Scratch that. Yes, I am. But I’m waiting for the perfect moment to revenge.”  

 

“Splendid.” Pansy grinned proudly at her. “You’re something of an adopted snake now. When we hold a grudge, we wait. And wait. And when the prey thinks you’ve forgotten the incident, we strike.”

 

Like a spirit summoned, Draco strode towards them, two empty bottles of beer in hand. “What were you two talking about?” he wanted to know, his voice somewhere between amusement and suspicion.

 

Schooling their faces into innocent smiles, the witches draped their arms round each other’s shoulders. “You know, girl stuff,” Pansy explained and squealed when Hermione pinched her bum for Draco to see. Giggling, the woman left the kitchenette, and Draco and Hermione were alone. 

 

With a wink, Hermione turned around to open another bag of crisps. Seconds later, she felt the warm presence of Draco’s body behind her, close enough to smell his cologne, but barely close enough to make the fabric of his shirt brush against her when he braced one arm against the counter. 

 

“I must admit, all those things you’ve presented us were rather delicious,” he spoke huskily from behind her. “But I’ve set my eyes on even more delicious goods.”

 

Hermione felt heat pooling in her abdomen when Draco carefully pushed her hair aside and started to press feathery kisses to her neck. A sigh escaped her upon those delightful sensations and was rewarded by a low chuckle from the wizard. Not wanting to be the only one reduced to a needy mess, the witch arched her back purposefully, the movement causing her bum to rub against the front of his jeans. She relished the hiss he made.

 

Beyond caring if one of their guests saw her, Hermione turned around, her lips immediately brushing over his. One of his arms secured her against him in an almost possessive gesture. He nipped at her bottom lip, grinning against her when her mouth opened reflexively in a gasp. Excitement and a good portion of lust coursing through her veins, she let her tongue slip between his lips, probing, searching for his. Finding it, his tip clashed against hers teasingly, and she curled her hand around his neck to pull him even closer- 

 

“Why is it going backwards so fast now?” Theo must have discovered the remote control for he shouted from the sofa helplessly.

 

Instantly, Hermione and Draco were rudely robbed of their moment. A bit flushed, she rested her head against his chest and felt his accelerated heartbeat within. Good. 

 

“I don’t let go once I’ve set my eyes on something, Hermione.”

 

Trying hard to ignore the pleasant shiver his use of her name brought, the witch in question extracted herself from his arms. On impulse, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and said, “I don’t want you to.” With a coy wink, she walked over to the others again, feeling his hot gaze roaming over her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Disclaimer: I don't own Men In Black, either. No money comes from the writing of this.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaaa! After what seems too long of a gap, I can finally give you the next chapter of this little story!  
> Thank you for all your wonderful support and lovely reviews! And, of course, my biggest shout-out to my fantastic beta MrBenzedrine89! She totally made me blush in glee with her comments on this chapter.  
> Because, you know, it contains some LEMON!  
> Also: Here's a little cameo of my dear friend Phinoa XD

Draco’s wish to cite Agent J came true when their year agreed upon a game of Quidditch. Since not all of them had decided to finish their schooling, a compromise was made: Ravenclaw and Gryffindor played together against Slytherin and Hufflepuff. To give it a friendlier, more playful aspect, the players didn’t play their usual positions but got assigned to a new position by chance -  Draco played Chaser and Harry Beater.

 

However, even a friendly game of Quidditch meant accidents, as Hermione had learned by observing and even occasionally playing the countless matches at the Burrow. Surprisingly, it wasn’t different at all at Hogwarts. 

 

“Ouch, woman, be careful with me! I’m hurt!”

 

Muttering angrily under her breath, the witch dragged a slightly dazed Draco, his arm firmly resting on her shoulders, back into their common room. “If it hadn’t been for Flora, you would’ve been in a much worse state than now. You don’t even have a concussion.” Indeed, Hermione was very thankful for the quick reaction from the Hufflepuff. Draco had plummeted to the ground when he got caught by an  _ Arresto momentum _ thrown out by one of the Hufflepuffs. 

 

Draco frowned, surprised at her bad mood. “No need to get your knickers in a twist over that. You know I’m not the biggest fan of Potter, but I really think he didn’t do it on purpose this time.”

 

Right. It had been Harry’s badly aimed Bludger that had rammed into the Malfoy scion’s most precious capital: his head.

 

Hermione didn’t stop walking and subconsciously steered Draco through the living room area, a bit gentler now. “I know that! It was just something Ginny apparently did that has me seeing red!” 

 

“Don’t most Weasleys do that to anyone?” the blond commented sarcastically, the attempted raise of his brows making him wince in pain. 

 

Closing the bathroom door behind her forcefully, Hermione bristled and collected herself a bit. “I received a very concerned letter from Molly Weasley today, right before the Quidditch match, asking me if I was alright because Ginny has told her I’ve been behaving  _ ‘off and untypical’ _ . Told me I maybe should seek professional help.” Draco braced himself on her shoulder to shuck off his boots. “And she didn’t mean the psychological one.” With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a pain relieving potion, which he drowned after an impressed grunt. “No, she meant having me checked for dark magic, because clearly, my  _ ‘current company doesn’t make sense’ _ .”

 

The brunette’s fingers flew to the fastening on his uniform, freeing him quickly of it, and throwing the mud stained clothing into the next corner. “After all that happened to her family in the past year, not to mention that a few years ago, a blasted diary with a fragment of Voldemort’s soul in it, courtesy of  _ your father _ -” she interrupted herself, noticing her current mood wouldn’t be the best when talking about the father of the man whom she divested of his shirt now. For a second, Hermione connected her gaze with Draco’s, finding him attentive and concentrated on her. This made her stomach feel funny things.

“I love her, but she can be a real mother hen,” she reasoned. “You know, as angry as I am now, I know that Ginny meant well in her own twisted universe.”  She had been so incensed at the whole thing that she couldn’t fully enjoy the sight of Draco, cutting an impressive and overall bloody sexy figure on his broom - and that had made her even angrier.

 

“As much as I enjoy the flushed skin and the angry sparks of magic in your hair-” He spun a frizzing curl around his index, brushing along her cheek in the process, “I really need a shower right now.” 

 

Hermione blinked, suddenly realising that she had shoved Draco into the bathroom and stripped him down to his Quidditch trousers. Not that she regretted it, but she was a bit surprised her body had taken control over her actions so distinctly while her mind was otherwise occupied. “Do you need my help?” she asked him, placing the ball in his field. 

 

“Too much of a gentleman and proud Malfoy to ask a lady for help, I’m afraid.” His honest smile settled her decision to act on her needs.

 

“It’s your luck, then; I’m not a lady at all.”  

 

You know that point when you’re coming down from being really angry, and then suddenly it tilts, and you’re getting reckless? That was Hermione now. 

 

Feeling bold, she closed the distance between them and pressed open mouthed kisses on his pectorals. He tasted like man and fresh sweat, the combination making her heady. They were as firm under her tongue as they appeared, and she suppressed a moan at it. Looking into Draco’s eyes and finding them considerably darkened, she left a wet, teasing trail on the erratically fluttering Snitch. He hissed and grabbed her hands, which had simultaneously opened his belt on their own.

 

“Hermione,” he asked huskily, “what do you think are you doing?” She knew that was his last restraint perking up, giving her a chance to back out. Because they both were aware of the unspoken truth: this wasn’t an enjoyable flirt anymore; they were about to bridge the gap to something more intense. There was no turning back after it.

 

“Getting what I want - as you taught me to,” she whispered. 

 

His question was apparently answered with that, because immediately, his lips rushed to envelop hers in a heated kiss, one hand cupped around the back of her head. She allowed herself to get lost in it for a bit, her tongue playing with his. Before things developed further, she stepped away from him. His disappointed groan turned into a desperate hiss when she lowered herself to her knees and let her fingernails lightly scratch over his stomach. She suppressed an all too girlish giggle, noticing he squirmed away as she tickled the fascinating trail of dark blond hairs south of his belly botton. But Hermione kept firm hold on his waistband and his body close, so she decisively pushed down his trousers - and his underwear with it. 

 

She found herself looking at his cock for the first time and thought it perfect - not because it was very large or so thick she couldn’t fit her hands around it, nor did it have an upcurve that would prod a sweet spot in her chanel every time he’d thrust into her at any given angle. He wasn’t a bloody sex toy. He was  _ real. _

 

It was perfect because this was for her; this piece of velvet steel was witness of Draco’s attraction to her, for how much he wanted this intimacy. Revelling in that fact, she explored him thoroughly. First, her fingers wandered of the base of his dick, heavy and hard in her hold. Then, she trailed deeper, gently encompassing his balls while she softly blew her breath over his hardness. Draco positively squirmed under her ministrations, the muscles of his stomach clenching.

 

“Damn,” the blond brought forth with a strained voice.

 

“What?” Hermione asked coquettishly, her own arousal pooling in her knickers, leaving them stuck to her skin. Though, that was only partly the reason she spread her knees and arched her back so she could see his face. She was well aware of what a sight she made, kneeling in front of him so submissively, though feeling anything but. Every woman deserved to feel like a sex goddess, and this was definitely one of those moments for Hermione.

 

Draco reached down to cup her face. With a subtle turn of her head, Hermione could draw his thumb into her mouth. When she sucked at it and at the same time pumped his cock, he moaned and made Hermione feel as if she could conquer the world. Letting go of his thumb with a conscious wet noise, she connected her eyes with his without ceasing the motions of her hands on his erection.

 

“Tell me,  _ Draco _ -” The sound of his name elicited another moan. “-what do you want me to do?”

 

“Fuck, you’re killing me here.” His gaze bore down on hers, the grey almost lost in a sea of dark lust. “Put...put it in your mouth,” the man groaned, struggling to form a cohesive sentence.

 

“Do you really want that?” she teased, but in truth she couldn’t await to taste him. The scent of his arousal made her dizzy with need.

 

“What I want is to pin you to the next wall and fuck you until you see-” Before he could finish painting this alluring fantasy, Hermione put his cock into her mouth, effectively silencing him. Well, at least he stopped talking and instead made sounds that made her very hot. But this wasn’t about her; this was about him. Always a fast learner, Hermione discovered very quickly how to drive Draco crazy: one hand stroked his balls while the other pumped the hard shaft relentlessly. And while her hands made sure that he stayed thoroughly aroused, her tongue and mouth let precum leak steadily. She alternated between generous moves with the flat of her tongue, gentle proddings at especially sensitive spots, and fully-mouthed attacks of her lips and throat in an unpredictable pattern.

 

After some time, he found his voice again, and what a voice it was: her name fell from his lips as first encouraging, then urgent, then pleading waves. WIth her hands on him, she noticed how strong the instinct to thrust was, and now she motivated it by moving the hand from his balls to his firm buttocks and pushing it towards her. That snapped his last restraint, and after a couple of thrusts, his fingers buried in her curls, he came with a final shout of her name. When Hermione swallowed his seed, she felt a surge of pride coursing through her, and as the flood had stopped, she sat back on her haunches and licked the final drops from her lips like a cat with some cream.

 

Draco had closed his eyes but opened them now, the grey visible again and very bright. With a smile, he reached for her hands and pulled her up.

 

“Wow, that was-”

 

“-A totally selfish way from me to take my mind off things effectively. I’m sorry you had to suffer,” she winked at him.

 

Laughing, he pulled her into an embrace where she felt his heart beating against her ribcage like a stampede. “That doesn’t sound as if I’m allowed to revenge my pain now.”

 

“Right, I have to do something first.” Hermione pressed a kiss on his lips, groaning when he trailed his tongue over her bottom lip, apparently out to taste himself on her. Her resistance wavered, and just when she was about to throw her plans out of the window, he stepped away from her with his hands remaining on her waist.

 

“Can I offer you my support?” he asked, cheeks still pink from exertion.

 

“No, I have to hold this much-needed talk with my friends alone.” 

 

Draco nodded curtly, understanding that she would sit down Harry and the others now. “I thought more of holding their arms while you hex them, but okay.” He smirked then and stepped into the shower. Hermione was seriously touched by his offer and even more so for his support of doing this alone.

 

Without watching out for his reaction and barely loud enough for him to hear, she left the bathroom with a quietly spoken, “I adore you.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? An update again? Yes! Due to already existing in notes and snippets, this practically wrote itself.
> 
> An epic thank you to my beta and friend MrBenzedrine89 who patiently deals with my irregular writing schedule.
> 
> And, of course, a huge shout-out for all your kind and funny reviews.

Hermione entered the Gryffindor common room refreshed and determined. After the Fat Lady let her pass without problems, she focused on the dozen or so pupils still lounging around. With a polite but strict smile (which would have made Narcissa Malfoy quite proud, though Hermione didn’t know that yet) she addressed the younger ones, “Would you be so kind and give us a bit room to talk?”

 

They hastily grabbed their books and parchments and scurried away like cockroaches. Like gossiping cockroaches to be exact, because she hard them mumbling in hushed tones about how this had certainly to be about her, “upcoming engagement to the sexy Malfoy heir.” Why did girls have to be like that? Gossiping, speculating, bitching? She had never been like that, had she? She had either not been interested in that stuff or been busy fighting whichever impossible challenge had been brought upon Harry. 

 

When only the people she liked to speak to remained, Hermione sat down gracefully in an armchair by the fire. Harry and Ginny cuddled on the loveseat across from her, and Ron leaned against Lavender’s legs from his place on the floor. The redhead, to her astonishment, had a book in his hands:  _ ‘Auror-training basics - how not to die in the first week’  _ by Alastor Moody. Seriously, she wondered if Ron was really cut for that job. Wouldn’t he be happier in assisting George? But his choices were his own, just as hers were.

 

“No need to beat around the bush; you all know why I’m here,” Hermione started talking, looking into the expectant faces of her friends. 

 

“Do we?” Ginny’s voice was sharp. 

 

“I suppose.” Hermione pulled the letter from Molly from the pocket of her robes that she had thrown hastily over her clothes. Harry appeared slightly uncomfortable at seeing it, but Ginny didn’t even flinch.

 

“Oh, a letter from Molly?” Lavender asked curiously, probably recognizing the script.

 

With effort, Hermione suppressed an eye-roll. “Yes, Lavender, well done.” 

 

“Did she send you the final fabric samples for the bridesmaid dresses?” 

 

“Lavender, I don’t want to hurt your feelings now, but you’re more of an auxiliary character in this.” She tried to reign in her superstitions, but in an emotionally frayed situations as this one, her bossiness often got the best of her. And she was only honest: she didn’t hate Lavender and had come to accept the witch as addition to their group. Though, this wasn’t about her. Hermione made a mental note to apologize to the other witch later on. For now, she continued, “And no, she was merely concerned about my unusual company and my general behaviour. Does that ring a bell, Ginny?” Her voice was quiet, but sharp and distinguished with a bit of emphasis on the vowels - a technique she had copied very effectively from Snape. 

 

Harry’s fiancée jutted her chin. “From here to Ottery St Catchpole and back. I won’t deny I told Mum our observations. After all, your change of character  _ is _ quite remarkable, and your little dalliance with Malfoy-” 

 

Hermione snorted, interrupting Ginny. “Change is necessary for progress. For evolution. For healing.” 

 

For the first time, Harry spoke up, his tone tense. “What if that supposed healing is going to ruin you?” His arm left Ginny’s shoulders then, and he rose, immediately starting to pace in front of the fireplace. “What if it lands you somewhere dark? Or pregnant?” 

 

As much as Hermione was touched by his genuine concern, it annoyed her all the same. “Oh, come off of it, Harry. I’m not going to end up chained to Malfoy Manor as a trophy wife, nor do I plan to become a Death Eater in training. Really now. I know you’re acting like an arsehole for the sake of protectiveness. You always do that.” She didn’t usually get so crass with Harry. Normally, it was either Ron and her or Ron and Harry saying mean things to each other when the emotions were all over the place. But not this time - this time, it was Ron functioning as Switzerland, and very effectively so because he munched a chocolate bar while observing his friends and sister quarreling. 

 

“Are you angry, Hermione?” prompted Lavender, pointing out the obvious. Actually, Hermione welcomed it as Harry glared at her with those intense green eyes of his.

 

“Hell, yes! I AM angry in this very moment! I am angry, I am jealous, I am annoying - I am  _ me _ ! I don’t want to fulfill everyone’s expectations! I want to be accepted for who I am, not for who you want me to be! All I ever wanted to be was a best friend, and, over a short amount of time, a girlfriend. Not someone who does your homework, not someone who is a fifth wheel in your relationship bingo, not someone who is the ‘bookworm-nerdy resource with the bushy hair’, not a sidekick.” 

 

Upon seeing Ron’s confused face, she explained, exasperated, “Merlin, Ron, I’m going to have you watch Batman or the Lord of the Rings this weekend, really!” He had the audacity to give her an encouraging nod.

 

“Is this how you’re really feeling?” Ginny wanted to know, her voice small.

 

“No, I made it up, because I’m a turned Slytherin and want to see you grovel at my feet,” she spit. Realizing that she had gone too far, she sighed heavily. “Sorry, my last remark was over the top.”

 

“I guess my words have been, too. I didn’t want to see your feelings. I was too busy with myself and Harry to realize that. Maybe it’s been a bit...suffocating?” One thing the Weasleys and the Malfoys had in common - and that had to be an inherited pureblood manko - was their incapacity or rather unwillingness to outright apologize. Ginny’s words were as close to it as it would get, Hermione knew. The brunette’s anger partly evaporated at the younger witch’s words, but she wasn’t mollified by far.

 

“What if you’re getting hurt?” Harry interjected. “What if Malfoy or whoever is only out for You-Know-What?” 

 

Hermione tilted her head questioningly, a bit of a sardonic smile displayed. “Who says I don’t want that? Harry, I’m a woman. And whether you want to hear that or not, I’m a sexual being. There’s nothing wrong with that. You won’t lose me because I’m doing what I want for myself.” Harry frowned, knowing she had stabbed at his weakest point: the fear of being left alone.

 

After some moments of silence, Ginny admitted, a bit sheepishly, “I must say, I’ve feared this kind of split between us in the past months. And yet, I did nothing to stop it.”

 

“Gin,” Hermione offered, “I’m not going to disappear - you all stay my friends if you want to. But this time, I won’t be the one who simply adapts to the circumstances. Difference is not a bad thing, Ginny. Yes, Draco is a first-class git. He’s certainly not Prince Charming. Do I intend to marry him? How can I know that? We haven’t even talked about our relationship status. Do I want to have sex with him?” Harry gasped, and she rolled her eyes at his immaturity. “Most certainly I want that.” Still feeling the urge to explain herself, she went on, “It’s not only being the fifth wheel. My interests are different from yours. All those hours in the library… you can’t say you two had fun there.” 

 

“Hey, I had my best naps there!” Ron defended and it brought the desired effect - all of them sniggered at his words. 

 

Hermione turned towards Ginny. “I don’t judge your dreams. Be happy with Harry, have a big wedding, and start making a bunch of kids. Do I think eighteen is too young to marry? For me, it certainly is. For you? It’s yours to decide. Do what makes you happy. But don’t get between me and my dreams. The three of us, and also you and Lavender, have fought for our lives so hard.” At this, tears shone in Ginny’s eyes and she was visibly affected. “We deserve a bit of happiness. Even I. And Draco makes me see that. I can be myself around him, as strange as it seems. I’m no saint or perfect, nor is he.” 

 

Next, she addressed her raven-haired friend, who appeared quite sceptical at her words, arms folded in front of his chest but at least not longer pacing. “You are afraid of the future, because, for the first time, it’s not planned out for you. That’s why you want to keep all your loved ones close, Harry. I understand that.” Her next words were spoken with a finality she hadn’t planned but suddenly felt the urge to express. “But that’s not me. Accept that and we will remain friends. Don’t and I’m walking from your life. As much as it is going to hurt,  I’ve reached a point where I realise it’s doing me no good.” 

 

When she rose and left the room with her very quiet friends in it, she pressed a chaste kiss on Ron’s cheek. For once, he hadn’t been the spitfire in an argument, but the warming fire to come home to. She was insanely proud of him because of that. 

 

On her way back to the Heads dorm, she allowed herself to review her own mood: a bit of anxiety. Elation. Relief. A dash of shame because she had partially lost control of her temper and lashed out. She had said everything that had burned on her soul in the past months since the war had ended, and now all she could do was to wait on their reaction.

Stepping into the room, she spotted Draco lounging on the couch, a book in hand. He lifted his head when he heard her, a smile forming. A smile that, strangely, had now a much stronger effect on her than his patented smirk, for it sent sparks down her spine and into her ribcage. He had dressed casually after his shower and wore soft cotton trousers (those really didn’t qualify as sweatpants), and a white t-shirt, nicely accentuating his lithe form. “Do I need to call the family lawyer?” 

 

“No,” she grinned at him, “I behaved. Mostly. Now it’s theirs to decide how to cope with what I’ve thrown at them. And you and I, Mister Malfoy, need to have a chat about what this,” she gestured between them, “exactly is.” 

 

He pulled at her hands when she was close enough, and guided her to straddle his lap. “You might be right.” Before she could say how she was almost  _ always _ right, he kissed her, thoroughly, his fingers tangling in her hair, taking her breath away with the intensity. “But we will do so on equal ground.” Draco didn’t need to specify what exactly he meant by that. 

 

“I’m all for equality, as you know.” She ground her hips against him. With a very female squeal coming from her mouth, Draco flipped her on her back, resulting in him hovering over her. His weight against her body lit a fire deep in her belly, especially since she had folded her legs around his hips reflexively, causing her to moan at the sudden friction. 

 

Draco must have been equally aroused by the scenery because his member was fully hard and insistent against her private parts. She was about to lift his shirt when he grabbed her wrists and drew in a way that had her squirm under him, “No. I was serious.” He pinned her arms above her head, his eyes connecting with hers and triggering another bout of wetness to pool in her underwear at the lust visible in them. “This is about  _ you  _ this time.” Trelawney’s talking teapot, this man was sweet and sexy when he wanted to. 

 

Her blouse vanished with a flick of his swiftly produced wand, and he left her in the black spaghetti top she wore underneath. She trembled when he pressed soft kisses down her jaw, her neck, and her collarbone. Dipping his head lower, Draco fastened his lips around her left nipple, the fact that he also vanished her bra occurring to her. A jolt of searing heat spread in her body when he simultaneously cupped the other breast, the attention he paid to them making her moan in delight.

 

_ Knock. Knock. _

 

Through the haze of lust, Hermione noticed Draco groaning at the sound. He wouldn’t stop now, would he? If it were something important, surely whoever stood on the other side would-

 

_ KNOCK, KNOCK! _

 

-knock again.

 

Just because she was practically writhing in pleasure didn’t mean Hermione Granger would entirely forget her sense of duty. Thus, she gently eased the gorgeous blond between her legs and tits away from her.

 

“Draco, there’s someone at the door,” she insisted. “It could be urgent. We should open.”

 

“I heard it; I just chose to ignore it.” He pouted, reminding her that he still was a bit spoiled, but got up nonetheless and strutted towards the door. When he paused to adjust himself discreetly, Hermione smiled. Though, that didn’t stop her from asking herself the question: who the Hell was at the door?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter of the first multi-chapter story I had no idea where this would go and how it was to end - other than it being endgame Dramione, obviously.
> 
> Thank you to all of those who have supported and encouraged me while writing this story - be it by reading, reviewing, leaving kudos or subscribing to this story!
> 
> A special shout-out to my beta, MrBenzedrine89 - I love you, lady!
> 
> Oh, there's smut in this chapter - shoud mention that, right? I hope you enjoy this final chapter!

Draco opened their dorm to a sheepish group of four Gryffindors with Pansy, Theo, and Blaise in tow. Before he or Hermione could yell an irritated, “ _ What? _ ” at them, Pansy threw her perfectly manicured hands up in exasperation.

 

“Draco, do you  _ know _ what it does to my reputation when four Gryffindors stand in front of our common room, demanding that we come with them?” 

 

“Don’t be such a bitch, Pans. They obviously meant well.” At ‘they’, Theo made a hand movement that included Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lavender.

 

But Pansy retaliated, leaving Hermione and Draco no opportunity to step in. “If they meant well, they would’ve brought Mister Greenhouse!” 

 

“Longbottom,” Blaise casually explained for the masses, and Ginny gave an understanding shrug, adding, “Well, he has certainly  _ grown _ beautifully.” 

 

The resulting frown on Harry Potter’s face was opportunity enough for Hermione to ask, “What is going on here?” Obviously, she couldn’t believe the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.

 

“You see, we had a little chat after you left,” Ron started before Harry interrupted him. “I-  _ We _ can’t lose you as a friend, Hermione. And you’ve been mostly right with what you’ve said. We haven’t been good friends to you these past months.” The admission was combined with a hand running through his hair nervously, making him look like a flustered crow.

 

Then, Ginny disclosed rapidly, “I won’t promise that I will stop nagging you about the wedding, but I will accept when you’re not wanting to partake in certain stuff.” 

 

Hermione pondered the things said and the whole situation in her head, grabbing onto Draco’s hand for support. This was what she wanted - practically demanded, right? But before she could answer in a correct Gryffindor fashion - with a hug or a squeal, that is - Pansy decided it was time to let the pureblood princess out.

 

“Alright, I know being a Gryffindor is an excuse for poor manners, but could we stop this emotional blabbering and finally grab a drink?” she insisted, indicating at the floating bottles of high-class contraband behind her and simultaneously ushering the whole group inside.

 

Hermione loved her in that moment, even when she gave both her and Draco a pat to the bum and a sly wink in passing.

 

* * *

 

One hour later, the merry mix of Slytherin and Gryffindor were (mostly) quite tipsy.

 

“I dare you to kiss anyone in this room!” 

 

Hermione groaned when Ron approached Pansy with these words. Sweet, innocent Ron. 

 

“She’s going to ruin him, right?” she whispered to Draco, seated next to her on the expanded sofa, when she saw the dark haired Slytherin witch inspecting one man after the other - before unexpectedly zooming in on Lavender. 

 

“Oh yes, she is,” Draco smirked back, a pride in his voice Hermione actually found quite appealing. 

 

Her hips swaying, Pansy sayashed over to Ron’s girlfriend who had held back in their game of Truth or Dare to this point. Kneeling down, Pansy positioned herself between Lavender’s legs and tilted the Gryffindor’s mouth towards her own. Hermione expected wands to be whipped out when the unique sound of lips touching lips, lips opening to lips, and even tongues clashing resonated through the room. The Head Girl held her breath but then scanned the room.

 

All wizards, including Harry, observed the scene like the moon-landing with a naked woman hopping out of the ferry instead of Neil Armstrong: their eyes were widened, their mouths slightly opened. 

 

“Boys,” Ginny giggled.

 

“ _ Men _ ,” Hermione corrected.

 

When Lavender made a tiny, whimpering sound that indicated how much she wasn’t appalled, the spell was broken, and a very pink-faced Ron cleared his throat and noted, “I think this Dare has been more than fulfilled. Thank you Panty - uh, Pansy!”

 

Pansy indeed let go of Lavender, not without giving her one last peck, and turned around with a triumphant expressions of someone who exceeded everyone’s expectations. She left behind a glassy-eyed Lavender and her trousers-adjusting boyfriend. Determined, the witch sat down next to a flushed Theo gracefully, and proceeded as if talking about the newest ‘Potion Monthly’. “So, Hermione, Truth or Dare?”

 

“Truth,” Hermione replied, hoping everyone would still be distracted for a while when she undoubtedly had to wash her dirty laundry. 

 

“So about this Bulgarian Quidditch Team: I want to know what happened.” 

 

The brunette snorted.“That much is obvious.” 

 

Pansy tilted her head, curious and more than a little intrigued. “Did you really have a threesome with two of them?”

 

“Define threesome.” Hermione felt a deviousness creeping up in her that would’ve sent her great-aunt screaming for a priest. 

 

“Well, three people engaging in sexual acts together, not necessarily involving penetration.”

 

“Then, yes.” Blaise gulped audibly at Hermione’s confession. Suddenly, she noticed that Draco had pulled her closer, his warmth and scent, combined with the overall atmosphere, igniting a spark of lust in her she didn’t want to submit to - yet.   

 

“Go on,” Draco drawled, and Hermione had to concentrate hard as not to blush under his unwavering stare. 

 

“Two wizards and me, though just one penetration.” 

 

The blond leaned into her, his nose brushing her cheek. “I’m certain you can use better and more adequate words to describe it.” It would have been so easy to turn and kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Judging by the others’ stares she felt on them, the rest of the group expected as much.

 

However, Hermione spoke, loud enough for everyone to hear, “And  _ I’m _ certain I fulfilled Pansy’s Truth according to the rules.” She broke the eye contact that threatened to break her resolve and commenced, “Harry, Truth or Dare?”

 

She swore she could see Blaise fanning himself. 

 

* * *

 

Observing the witches and wizards in her common room, Hermione mused why it had taken so much violence, tears, and pain to get them together like this - free, bickering, and bantering peacefully. Of course, they wouldn’t leave as best friends, and there would undoubtedly arguments and spats be around, but in the end they had reached a point where a mere co-existence morphed into something else: something precious and precarious.

 

The alcohol lowered the inhibitions and helped things along (obviously, not a solution for weekdays). The emptier the bottle, the darier the Dares became.

 

“Have ‘Mione share a shot of vodka with you without mouth contact, but a lot of skin contact.” The way Ginny challenged Draco wasn’t a result of a misplaced nickname, but the copious amount of (ironically) Gin in her system. Hermione didn’t bother to mention that the Dare technically was directed at her and not Draco. 

 

After Draco winked encouragingly at her, Hermione dipped her finger into the glass placed in front of her and boldly straddled his lap. His eyes darkened to slate-grey when she traced Draco’s lips with the moist digit. 

 

“How much alcohol have you consumed tonight?” he asked carefully.

 

Perfect. That is where she wanted him all evening. Leaning into him, she licked the liquid from his lips by only using her tongue. “Just this one,” she answered truthfully afterwards and rejoiced at how his breathing hitched upon her revelation. 

 

“So you’re sober?” Excitement was laced into his low voice.

 

Nodding, she nuzzled her cheek against his. “Mmmh, exactly. And so are you, as I’ve observed.” And indeed, the Malfoy heir had declined all offers of alcohol and committed himself to coke, insisting the bubbles in it had a similar effect. Hermione surmised he wanted to remain in control of his senses in case the situation demanded a clear head.

 

“Shall we excuse ourselves and continue our exchange about equality in private?” She felt him harden beneath her, and it took her a lot of self-control as not to rub her aching center against his. She was sexually confident, not a slag who rode a man in front of her friends.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she teased him. 

 

“The best I had in ages.”  And with that, he got up, wrapping Hermione’s legs around his waist. Ignoring the wolf-whistles and crude remarks from their drunk friends, Draco carried her to his bedroom. 

 

* * *

 

With a flick of his wand, he had the room locked, warded, and silenced, making Hermione laugh at the hastily performed magic. Gently, he lowered her to the bed.

 

“Why are we here and not in my room? Are you afraid your ancestors might roll in their graves when their precious offspring spends the night in a Gryffindor room?” 

 

He grinned, determinedly unbuttoning her jeans. “That’s a pleasant thought, but I think I’ll tick that box off by spending the night with a brilliant muggleborn witch I treat as my equal.” Hermione’s heart raced at the sincerity in his voice, and she immediately pulled him up to kiss him vigorously. But soon, kissing wasn’t enough, and she needed more. That in mind, she untucked Draco’s shirt from his trousers, her hands wandering under the fabric. He sighed deeply when she caressed his sides, but the sound changed as she started rocking her hips against his hard-on. 

 

“Impatient, witch?” Draco growled into her mouth. 

 

“A bit, yes. Come on, get out of your clothes and into me.” 

 

The blond rose and divested himself of all his clothes, heightening Hermione’s arousal with every piece he dropped. In the faint light of his room, the paleness of his skin was even more pronounced, the muscles prominent beneath. The Snitch on his torso fluttered in anticipation, while the other tattoos remained stationary, the ink only highlighting the hard lines of Draco’s body. The brunette witch whimpered when he finally stood naked in front of her, his cock heavy and hard, pointing in her direction comically. 

 

Eager to have him, she shrugged her blouse from her shoulders and opened her bra behind her back with a practised move. Throwing it to the side, not caring where it landed, she lifted her hips from the bed to push her jeans and knickers down. 

 

But she had made her plans without Draco: with her hips at the highest point, he pounced on her, catching her under the bum and on the waist with his hands. “Not so fast. I want to cherish this moment.” Kneeling over her, he pressed a series of kisses to the sensitive skin between her hipbone, the juncture of her legs, and her venus mound. The sensation shot into her pussy, and she threw her head back. Carefully, Draco continued to undress her until she lay bare before him.

 

She didn’t feel anxious or even apprehensive because this was the first time he saw her like that. It wasn’t necessary. She trusted him to deal with all of her imperfections, and now this intimate knowledge extended to the physical ones. 

 

“I know I should say how beautiful you are, how stunning and fantastic, but those are only inadequate words,” he whispered as his grey eyes wandered over her body.

 

“The messages here,” she pointed at his shining eyes, “and here,” she reached between her legs and gave his erection a firm stroke, making him emit a moan, “are everything I need to know about what you feel at the moment.” 

 

For the span of a few strokes, Draco allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of her hand around his dick, but then he pried it away. “Give me a chance to pay you back!” he laughed, but his voice was strained. Without waiting for her answer, he lowered his head to her breasts and kissed them, first one, then the other. Though, these weren’t normal kisses. With his teeth, he pulled the tip into his mouth and engulfed as much of her breast into them as he could while simultaneously flicking the tip of his tongue against her nipple. Hermione moaned unabashedly at this treatment, having never experienced these sensations before. Her hands buried in his hair, she urged him on until she was a mess of lust. 

 

Just when she thought she’d come from this alone and her writhing got more and more unhinged, he stopped. She made a disappointed noise at which he chuckled darkly. The good kind of dark. “I’m not done with you yet.” With a smile that made Hermione want to tie him to the bed, he worked his way down her body, peppering kisses to her heated skin. 

 

And, as he had promised, he went down on her, and Hermione saw stars. She would have thanked Merlin for Silencing spells - if she had been coherent enough to do so. But the young woman was currently lost in a sea of desire, coated in her own juices, in full responsibility of Draco Malfoy. The man explored every inch of her folds, lapping, sucking, biting gently. And when he inserted one single finger into her wet heat, she wanted to scream, so torturously slow and sure were his movements while her body demanded  _ more _ . He stopped,  _ again _ , when she was seconds away from coming all over his mouth and finger. 

 

“You are a right git,” Hermione cursed, beyond the point of begging, pulling him up to where she wanted him - between her legs. 

 

“But I’m  _ your _ git now,” Draco insisted, albeit with difficulty because his more than ready cock already nudged against her entrance. After correcting the angle, he finally slid into her. The overwhelming feeling of being filled to the hilt after the seemingly endless time of teasing sent Hermione spiraling into an incredible orgasm. 

 

Clenching around him without giving him the chance to move, it was now Draco’s turn to swear. “ _ Fuck _ , Hermione, you don’t want me to last, right?” 

 

Slowly coming down from her high, the witch in question panted, “That’s your own fault.” She smirked at him, throwing her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. The change in the angle of penetration made them both moan in pleasure. Draco started thrusting, deeply and strongly, in a way that made Hermione’s toes curl and her heart burst. 

 

The blond expired expletives he didn’t possibly learn in his pureblood home, and she watched him in fascination; head thrown back in bliss and rosy lips opened, Draco looked like some debauched ethereal being. One her mind and body couldn’t get enough of. When the tell-tale contracting in her pussy was about to mount in another orgasm, Hermione urged him to look at her with a breathy, “Draco!”. 

 

Their eyes connected over his now frantic pounding, and this single, intense moment was enough to throw them both into the realms of blinding ecstasy. 

 

After riding their peaks out, his muscles suddenly lost all their energy, and he very nearly collapsed on top of her. Out of breath, Draco slid out and settled on the mattress next to her. Still breathing heavily, they both stared up to the ceiling of his bedroom; the air surrounding them cooled their heated bodies, covered in sweat, down nicely, though they kept connected by their intertwined fingers and his right arm touching her left over the full length of it. 

 

When their heartbeat slowly returned to normal, Hermione asked, as if they didn’t just have completed a fantastic round of shagging, “What’s the real reason you took me here instead of my room?” 

 

“Male possessiveness?” 

 

She tickled his side, effectively ruining his display of dominance. Fighting her off by heaving himself into half sitting position and pinning her to the bed with his body - and demonstrating a real bit of delicious male possessiveness - he reached for the nightstand. 

 

“Because I have this in here for you.” With his leg and arm still covering her body, Draco held a phial out for her to read. It contained a familiar looking potion, but instead of its usual label ‘long term contraceptive potion’, it had his neat script on it. 

 

“ _ ‘Be silly with me’ _ ,” Hermione whispered. The butterflies in her stomach and the hopeful expression on Draco’s face made her smile, probably very goofily so as she nodded. To end the sugary sweetness, she said, between soft kisses on her boyfriend’s lips, “You know you could have  _ Accio’d _ it from anywhere?” She drowned the potion and then shoved his shoulder, pushing him to lay on his back while she threw her leg over his hips. Understanding what she wanted, Draco helped her to straddle him. 

 

“You’re an insufferable know-it-all,” he vexed, low in his throat. The brunette witch had no qualms to impale herself on his re-hardened cock. 

 

When she started rocking back and forth on him, she replied, eyes blazing, “But I’m  _ your  _ know-it-all now.”

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in months, Hermione awoke with a feeling of peace running through her veins. The sun was rising when she gently freed herself from Draco’s embrace. Still fast asleep, the blond made some incoherent noises upon the irritation of his bed partner leaving him. To calm him, Hermione gently traced one hand from his head, the characteristic hair soft between her fingers, to the contours of his face. She lowered her head and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. First, he scrunched it in irritation, but then he relaxed, and his lips curled into a faint smile. Frankly, it was so adorable she had to leave as not to be tempted to continue coaxing some more of it out of him.

 

Picking up some items of clothing and even throwing on some of them, she tiptoed out of the room. The sight that greeted her when she entered the area around the fireplace made her summon a camera and fix it on celluloid forever: not one of their friends had found their way back into their own bed. Ginny lay on the sofa, her head on Harry’s thighs, her feet on Theo’s. Blaise, his mouth opened in a very common way, had apparently fallen asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace, arms curled around Pansy. The Italian’s feet rested on the armrest where Ron and Lavender still sat. Ron snored not-so-softly, though Lavender, whose head was propped against her boyfriend’s shoulder, didn’t seem to mind.

 

Bottles, glasses, even the errant empty bag of crisps were found everywhere on the furniture and floor, but no broken pieces were to be seen. Her heart light and her mind giddy, Hermione finished photographing and resumed her mission.

 

Ten minutes later, the Head Girl and war heroine left the entirely empty Great Hall with a broad smile on her face and a spring in her step. It had taken her a bit of nifty wandwork, but instead of the Salazar’s snake, the ancient symbol of Slytherin House, Draco Malfoy’s - coincidentally emerald green - boxer briefs now ornated the Hogwarts crest at the front of the staff table. To see for every public eye, though subtle as she had learned from her friends in this very House to be, Hermione had gotten her bit of sweet revenge for the bra story. She knew Draco wouldn’t really be angry with her. A bit hurt in his pride, naturally, though that was something she could handle.

 

Hermione didn’t want to get married within the year. Unlike Ginny, she didn’t want to start a family two years from then. She definitely wanted a career. She planned to be around her friends, even though the ties wouldn’t be as close in the future as they had been in the past. New friendships had been forged under the weirdest of circumstances, and it was her wish to deepen them.

 

It had been a long way to go in the past eight years, but she had learned that letting loose, being outright silly, suited her well from time to time; it was even part of her character as Draco had helped her to discover. 

 

And Hermione wanted to continue being silly with Draco Malfoy. 

 

Impossible? Improbable? 

 

No, not at all.


End file.
